Flynn shrugged, his mouth twisting into an ironic smile. ‘Look where it gets you,’ he said, indicating the toilet behind me.
I blushed. ‘Okay, but . . . I mean, is it that you don’t like the taste?’
‘It’s not that.’ Flynn paused. Then he sat down on the floor opposite me. ‘Er . . . did you mean . . . what you said, about not having a boyfriend?’
I frowned at him. My head felt clearer than it had, but not totally clear. Why on earth would he think I had a boyfriend?
‘Yes,’ I said.
Flynn stared at me. ‘It’s just, when I saw you, when we had that coffee . . . the way you rushed off after getting that phone call. I could see you didn’t want whoever it was to know you were with me.’ He shrugged. ‘I kind of assumed it was some guy.’
I frowned. ‘It was Emmi,’ I said. ‘Emmi and Grace. I was late meeting them. That was all.’
That wasn’t quite all, of course. I hadn’t wanted them to see me with Flynn, but . . . Another thought occurred to me.
‘Why didn’t you ask me if I was going out with anyone?’ I said.
Flynn shrugged again. He looked away.
He didn’t ask because he likes you, you idiot. And he didn’t want to risk being humiliated in case you said you were with someone else.
I chuckled drunkenly, suddenly feeling deliriously happy.
He likes me. He likes me.
Except. Except . . . My befuddled brain inched its way to the horrible truth of the situation. I was drunk and he was not only sober but actually non-drinking for some reason. Worse. Oh God. Worse of all possible worses. He’d just seen me be sick. Which must be the biggest turn-off known to mankind.
Flynn stood up and held out his hand. ‘You should get some air,’ he said.
I took his hand and let him pull me to my feet. He kept hold of my hand as we crossed the landing and went down the stairs. Outside the front of the house the street was quiet, just a steady thump, thump from the music inside.
As we walked a little way down the pavement, I shivered. Damn, I’d left my jacket inside. The cold air was sobering me up fast, though. I remembered how I’d cried before I’d puked and wished I’d looked in the bathroom mirror before I’d left the room.
Flynn was looking at me again. I turned my face away and licked at the finger of my free hand. I ran it desperately under my eyes, hoping I’d pick up any smudged traces of eyeliner and mascara.
Flynn took my arm and pulled me round. I was really shivering now. It was freezing with just the little black top on. He put his hands on my arms and rubbed them up and down. His eyes were dark gold now and soft in the street lamp above our heads.
‘Why do you hate drinking so much?’ I said slowly.
He stopped rubbing my arms and let his hands fall to his sides. ‘I don’t,’ he said. ‘I just hate drunks.’
A car whooshed past us. I didn’t know what to say.
I only got drunk because you didn’t look at me.
Flynn looked over my head into the night. Then he took a step back, away from me. ‘Are you okay?’ he said.
I nodded. ‘Flynn?’
He raised his eyebrows.
‘I . . . I like talking to you.’ I closed my eyes. How pathetic did I sound? Shut up, River. Shut up until you’re sober.
I felt his fingers draw gently down the side of my face.
I shivered, my skin tingling where he’d touched me. I looked up. He was staring at me, his expression somehow both tender and exasperated all at once.
My heart was pounding, my legs threatening to fall away from beneath me. Kiss me. Kiss me.
He leaned forward as if he was going to kiss me, then he whispered, ‘I like you too, River, but I’m not kissing you while you’re drunk and your mouth tastes of puke.’
He drew back and grinned. A confident, entirely sexy, beautiful grin. ‘I’ll walk you home, though,’ he said. ‘If you’d like?’
I blinked. Oh yes, oh yes. I would like.
Then I remembered.
‘I can’t,’ I stammered. ‘I’m supposed to be going back with Emmi and Grace later. They’re sleeping over at my house.’
Flynn stared at me, his eyes boring right into me.
‘I can’t stay here any longer,’ he said. ‘Mum’s working nights this week. I have to get back before twelve-fifteen or else Caitlin and Siobhan’ll be on their own.’
I wanted to ask him why Siobhan couldn’t look after Caitlin. Why she couldn’t stay on her own. But his eyes were stripping me of the power of speech. Or maybe it was all the beer and rum.
‘Promise me you’ll go straight inside and find Grace and James,’ Flynn said. ‘Tell James I want him to take you home, to make sure you get back all right. And promise me you’ll go soon. Okay?’
I nodded. He pointed towards the house. ‘I’ll watch you back inside. Go on.’
I walked carefully back along the pavement, feeling ridiculously happy. At the door I turned. Flynn was still watching me. He raised his hand in a wave, then spun round, shoved his hands in his pockets and vanished into the night.
10
I went straight up to Grace and James when I got back to the party. They were all over each other. I had to stand right next to them for about ten seconds before they even saw me.
‘I’ve just been sick,’ I said.
‘Oh, Riv.’ Grace made a sympathetic face. But I could see she was in no mood to leave. James said nothing. I turned to him.
‘Flynn saw me being ill. He’s gone, but he said I should ask you . . .’ I stopped. Apart from not really wanting to talk about Flynn in front of Grace, it struck me that there was really no need for James to come home with us at all. Emmi, Grace and I were perfectly capable of making our own way back.
But James was already nodding. ‘He wants me to take you home? That’s fine,’ he said.
‘What?’ Grace was looking at him, horrified.
‘Both of you, I mean,’ James said hastily.
Grace frowned. ‘Are you really feeling ill, Riv?’
I swallowed. I wasn’t too bad, not any more. But I’d promised Flynn I’d let James make sure I got back okay. And I’d said I’d leave soon. I frowned. Something about the leaving soon thing didn’t quite make sense, though I couldn’t put my finger on what.
‘Grace, why don’t you find Emmi? Tell her River’s not well. Needs to go,’ James said quickly. ‘I’ll get her a drink of water.’
Grace looked at him, then nodded. She disappeared out of the room. As soon as she was gone, James grabbed my arm. ‘Are you sure you’re okay?’
I stared at him. ‘I’m fine, look, Flynn was just suggesting you might take me home. He wanted me to go soon. But there’s no need – I feel okay now. And I’ll be with Emmi and Grace when I do leave.’
James shook his head. ‘He’ll be really annoyed at me if I don’t do what he said. Anyway,’ his face reddened, ‘Grace is staying with you, isn’t she?’
I frowned. ‘How d’you mean, “really annoyed at you”? Why would he be? I don’t understand.’
‘Me and Flynn have an agreement. He lets me copy his English and history homework. Then, if he asks me to do something like this, I do it. No questions.’
My frown deepened. ‘How often does he ask you to walk his . . . his friends home?’
‘He hasn’t before. But sometimes he asks me to meet his sister from work. If he has to be somewhere else. Once I was late and he was so mad, I thought he was going to hit me.’
‘Why does he always meet his sister?’ I said.
James shrugged. ‘Dunno. He’s never said. He only says that he has to look after her.’ He paused, blushing again. ‘Look. It’s no big deal,’ he said.
‘Okay,’ I said slowly, my mind whirling. Why was Flynn so protective of his sister? And why, now, was . . .
‘Why’s he doing this for me?’ I said.
‘He’s probably worried about you going home drunk,’ James said. ‘He’s got a massive thing about alcohol.
All drugs, but alcohol especially. Never touches it.’
‘I know,’ I said. ‘What’s that about?’
James shrugged again. ‘No idea. But I’ve never seen him have so much as a sip of beer and he gets really angry if you push him on it.’
I frowned. The list of things which made Flynn really angry was getting longer every time I met him. Money. Drugs. Booze. People turning up late to protect his sister from some mysterious danger.
I spotted Grace – minus Emmi, but carrying both our jackets in her arms – appearing at the doorway.
‘Okay,’ I whispered, remembering what hadn’t made sense to me before. ‘I see why he wants you to make sure I get home all right, but why did he say I should go soon? Wouldn’t it make more sense for me to sit here quietly for a bit until I felt properly better?’
I stared at James, wondering what new revelation I was going to get about Flynn’s personality now.
James’s blush deepened. ‘Er . . .’ he said, watching Grace wander over to us. ‘I imagine that’s just because he doesn’t want you getting with anyone else.’
The next day was Sunday. Stone and I went to see Dad at his commune. I hardly spoke all the way there. My head was full of Flynn and the night before.
Part of me was mortified that he’d seen me drunk and puking. But part of me kept remembering the way he’d looked at me – and how he’d said he liked me too . . .
This last point was reinforced by James. He’d spent most of the journey wrapped around Grace and, at some point, had mentioned to her that he thought Flynn was interested in me. Grace had pestered me all night for details. I kept insisting nothing had happened between me and Flynn. Which was true. We hadn’t even kissed.
I just said he’d been nice about me being sick and I couldn’t really remember the rest of it.
Emmi had refused to come home with us. Grace and I agreed to tell my mum she’d decided to go back to hers instead. She turned up the next morning to pick up her stuff – explaining in graphic detail how she’d spent the whole night with Alex.
I could tell she wasn’t pleased when Grace told her about me and Flynn.
‘He’s a bit weird, Riv,’ she said. ‘Don’t you think? Dead intense. I mean, look at last night. He wasn’t even there and he got the three of you to do what he wanted and go straight home.’
I shrugged. ‘He was just trying to be nice,’ I said. But some part of me knew Emmi was right. It was a bit weird how protective he’d suddenly got. As if we’d been going out for ages or something. As if I was really important to him.
But then, I sighed, that was what made Flynn so amazing – how intense he was. How deeply I felt it all.
The day at the commune passed very slowly. Stone had a great time, helping Dad and Gemma dig potatoes. He still loves all that nature stuff, so long as he’s sure his friends can’t see him. I poked around, pretending to be working, but my heart wasn’t in it.
Dad must’ve seen I wasn’t enjoying myself. Not that I ever do, that much, at the commune. It’s basically just a bunch of fields and huts – with a big old farmhouse in the middle. It’s not that far out of London, but far enough to feel like the countryside.
Today I was so distracted I spent half my time outside just leaning on my fork, staring across the vegetable field towards the trees that marked a boundary with the row of houses next to the commune.
‘What’s the matter?’ Dad said, coming up to me. I blushed. I’d just been remembering how Flynn had dragged his fingers slowly down my cheek. Dad grinned. ‘Worried you broke a nail?’
I shook my head. I wasn’t in the mood to be teased. Dad tilted his head to one side and smiled gently at me. ‘Trouble shared, trouble halved,’ he said.
Dad’s full of cheesy old sayings like that. He’s so laid-back nowadays he’s practically asleep. He’d grown a bit of a beard since I’d last seen him two weeks ago, and there were lines round his eyes from all the squinting against the sun he does with his outdoor work.
‘I guess commune-living seems pretty boring to you,’ Dad said, still smiling that slow smile.
I shrugged.
He leaned forward on his fork, next to mine. ‘What’s on your mind, River?’
He stood there, silently, waiting for me to speak. I looked away, over at the trees again. It was a dull, cloudy day. Not all that cold for the middle of October, but grey, like it might rain later. The air felt heavy, oppressive. Somehow it reminded me of Flynn. Of the way his presence changed everything in a room.
Dad stood there, next to me, still waiting.
Mum would have jumped in by now. Emmi and Grace would never have shut up in the first place. It was easy not telling them how I felt. They never really listened anyway. But Dad was different. Since he’d been at the commune, he’d grown quieter and more determined, like he had this strong sense of who he was and what he wanted. Like he belonged.
The wind was rushing through the trees, sweeping my hair across my face. I hooked it back behind my ear, then turned to him.
‘I met someone, Dad,’ I said.
Dad gave a tiny nod. He didn’t say anything.
‘I really like him.’ My cheeks felt hot, despite the chill of the wind. I looked down at my fork, at the rusty prongs, half covered with earth.
There was a long pause. Then Dad cleared his throat.
‘How does he feel about you?’
I shrugged. ‘I think he likes me. We haven’t really gone out yet, but . . .’ I prodded the fork into the ground. I could feel Dad’s eyes watching me. ‘Dad, I really like him but there are things about him I don’t understand, like, he gets really angry about not having any money and he’s really protective about his sister, and Emmi and Grace think he’s weird cos he’s so intense, but . . .’
I wanted to tell Dad how it felt when Flynn looked at me, how scary and powerful my feelings were, but there are some things you just can’t say to your own father.
Dad sighed. ‘You can never fully understand another person, River,’ he said softly. ‘Not really. Even here, at the commune, where we’re all trying to be awake to the universe, we can’t get away from it – the politics, the emotional baggage, the petty squabbles that stop us seeing each other clearly.’ He put his rough, blistered hand on my shoulder. ‘And it’s normal for young men to be angry about things,’ he said. ‘I was. Still am when I see all the injustice and cruelty that goes on.’
I bent over and started digging again. Dad joined in. After a couple of minutes he straightened up and smiled at me.
‘I wish, more than anything, your mum would have agreed to you growing up here,’ he said. ‘It’s such a good grounding for dealing with outside life.’
I shook my head.
‘Seriously, River . . .’
But before Dad could say anything else, Stone raced over to show us a weirdly-shaped potato he’d found.
‘There’s a whole bunch of them,’ Stone said, looking like three years had just dropped off his age.
Dad laughed and went over to see for himself. I kept on digging with my fork, hitting a potato almost immediately. As I freed the earth around it, I thought about what Dad had said. Was it really true that you could never completely know another person? Surely that was what being in love meant – that you had that connection, that deep understanding.
I was sure Dad was wrong about other things too – how could living in a commune help you deal with real life? I mean, if I lived in a commune, how would I ever have met Flynn?
I sighed, then bent down and picked up the potato.
11
The next day, after school, Grace, Emmi and I went over to St Cletus’s on the bus. Emmi made sarcastic remarks about me and Flynn all the way there.
‘You can do way better than him, Riv,’ she kept saying. ‘I mean, have you seen his school uniform? It looks about tenth-hand.’
‘River thinks that’s romantic,’ Grace said slyly. ‘A poor man, nothing to give her but love.’ She clasped her hands together and
batted her eyelashes stupidly.
‘Shut up, both of you,’ I snarled.
They laughed. Emmi prodded me in the ribs. ‘We’re just teasing, girl,’ she said. ‘Flynn’s okay, if you must. I mean, he is a bit weird. Way too intense for me – all that ridiculous I must make sure you get home safely nonsense. But he’s obviously really clever and, anyway, loads of people go for that brooding thing he does.’
I rolled my eyes. She was making it sound like it was some kind of act that Flynn put on.
‘Tell you one thing, though,’ Emmi said, lowering her voice. ‘He’ll be after sex on your first date.’
Grace giggled.
I stared at Emmi, speechless.
‘You can see it in his eyes,’ she said mysteriously. ‘He’s not used to waiting for things.’
She sat back and started asking Grace what James Molloy was like as a kisser. I watched Grace go pink, admitting he was really quite good. And that she was definitely dumping Darren for him.
What on earth was Emmi going on about? Flynn and I hadn’t even kissed yet and we’d met weeks ago. The last thing Flynn was, was pushy. I shook my head. It might all be about sex for Emmi, but the connection I’d felt with Flynn was different.
The bus took ages to get to the school. In the end we arrived ten minutes late for rehearsal. It was the last week before half-term and Mr Nichols was in full flow as we arrived in the rehearsal room.
‘Everyone must know their lines by the end of half-term,’ he was saying, pacing across the room. ‘We’re going to begin blocking the play using the actual stage once we’re back, and rehearsals will increase to three times a week.’
I looked round for Flynn. He was at the end of a long row of desks, his arms folded. He looked up at Mr Nichols. His face was sulky and sullen.
‘I can’t do three times a week,’ he said. ‘As you already know, sir.’
He said the last word with such withering contempt, I was surprised Mr Nichols didn’t give him detention on the spot.
Mr Nichols narrowed his eyes. ‘I didn’t say everyone would have to attend three times a week, Flynn . . .’ He caught sight of me and the other girls hovering by the door. ‘Oh, you’re here. Good. Come in, girls. Now let’s get straight into Act 3, Scene 3.’