Falling Fast

  I guess it wasn’t really that much, but compared to my track record it felt like a lot of experience. I’d done plenty of disappointing kissing over the past two years, but I’d only really had one proper boyfriend before. Oliver Brown. I’d met him at a party last year and talked to him because he had nice eyes. We’d gone out for three months, but all we’d done was kiss and fumble about a bit. I dumped him in the end because I knew I didn’t love him and liking and fancying him a little just wasn’t enough.

  Flynn and I met up for a few snatched hours most days that half-term. We talked more – about school and the subjects Flynn had chosen for his AS and A levels. He was doing history, English, French and geography. As I was planning to do the first two of those next year, I asked him lots of questions about what books he had to read and what he thought of them. I soon realised Flynn viewed books completely differently from me. I loved getting lost in the stories, the world of the characters. For him, they were simply a means to an end – a means to a qualification that he hoped would bring him status and money. I don’t mean he didn’t ever enjoy reading. But he never seemed to care about stories like I did.

  I learned to avoid mentioning the things that made him angry. It was quite a list. In addition to drunks and money, he had already snapped at me when I’d asked about him being Catholic:

  ‘I’m not Catholic. Not any more. It’s hypocritical and hard-faced and totally up its own arse. I got out of it as soon as I could. Okay?’

  He got angriest of all when I asked him questions about his home and his family, especially why he was so protective of Siobhan. Once or twice he shouted at me. I learned to stop speaking as soon as his face got that thundery, closed-down look that meant he was on the verge of losing his temper.

  I told myself it didn’t really matter.

  We still had plenty to talk about. I told him loads about my mum and dad and how it had been when they split up. I talked about Stone – how he called me Swampy and how annoying he was. I talked about the books I’d read and the films I’d seen and the things I’d done with my friends.

  Flynn told me about his jobs. Goldbar’s where he worked on Sundays was a gym. Well, a boxing club, really. He got free classes and some money in exchange for cleaning the place.

  ‘I like boxing,’ he said, when I asked him why he did it. ‘It’s important. So I can look after myself.’

  ‘You mean fight?’ I said. ‘Why d’you need to be able to do that?’

  He muttered something vague about rough neighbourhoods.

  But I knew there was something else too.

  Something he wouldn’t say.

  What we talked about most, of course, was Romeo and Juliet how good or bad various people were in their parts. How much Mr Nichols irritated him. How boring we both found bits of the play – and how brilliant some of it was.

  One day I questioned him carefully about Emmi and what it was like acting with her.

  ‘It’s okay.’ He shrugged. ‘I mean, she’s all right as Juliet, but she’s a bit . . .’ He paused, flicking an imaginary strand of hair off his shoulder and pouting at me in a wickedly accurate imitation of Emmi. ‘I dunno, sometimes I think she’s more concerned about looking good than anything else.’

  I grinned, then felt disloyal.

  ‘Emmi’s okay,’ I protested. ‘I know she comes across as a bit superficial, but she’s a good friend.’

  Flynn nodded.

  ‘And she does look good,’ I said. ‘She’s really pretty.’

  ‘Well, that’s true,’ Flynn acknowledged.

  There was a short pause. A thin thread of jealousy twisted into a knot in my heart. Flynn thought Emmi was really pretty.

  Well, of course he did. Who wouldn’t?

  It didn’t mean he liked her more than me.

  Flynn put his arms round me. ‘Never mind Emmi. Doing Romeo and Juliet’s not real. It’s not like with you.’

  And he drew me into this long kiss. Our kisses were – unbelievably – getting better and better. He didn’t try to touch me that much, not inside my jeans, anyway, not the whole time we were meeting in the park. But he still ran his hands all over me as we kissed. I shivered wherever he touched me.

  He laughed at that, told me how sexy I was.

  But it wasn’t me who was sexy.

  It was him.

  It was us. Together.

  15

  Half-term slid slowly by. By the last weekend the weather had changed completely. After the mild, still days of earlier in the week, the temperature dropped and it started raining – not hard, but off and on, all the time.

  It was too cold and wet to sit outdoors in the park. Especially for Flynn – who either didn’t have a coat or only possessed one he was ashamed to be seen in. I hadn’t plucked up the courage to ask which yet.

  On Friday I forced him to let me buy him a coffee at the café we’d gone to that very first time. He agreed – after all it was only fair, even he could see that, as he’d bought the last one. But just talking about money seemed to put him in a bad mood. I knew he was embarrassed that I had more than him. I suppose I still didn’t really understand why it was such a big deal – after all, it wasn’t like I was rich or anything.

  I kept waiting for him to ask me round to his house. But he didn’t. So in the end we agreed to meet on Sunday afternoon at mine. I would rather we’d gone to a cheap café, but I was too scared of us having an argument over who was going to pay.

  I hadn’t told Mum very much about Flynn – just that we’d met up a couple of times and that he was coming round so we could test each other on our lines. This, of course, wasn’t even remotely true – Flynn had been word-perfect from the first rehearsal, while I knew half the entire play off by heart.

  Stone was staying over at Dad’s all weekend and I knew Mum would be out until about five. Flynn said he’d come round at four. It was all going to work, I told myself nervously. He’d have an hour to get used to the place before having to meet Mum. She’d teased me no end when I told her Flynn was playing Romeo.

  ‘So you still want to be Juliet, then?’ she’d said, nudging me like she’d said something hilarious.

  I’d looked forward to him coming round all day, but as soon as I opened the door and saw him standing outside, I knew it was going to be a disaster.

  His arms were crossed and his face was all clenched up. I could practically feel the anger pulsing off him as I took him through the hall into the kitchen. We had a can of Coke and some biscuits.

  Flynn said nothing. I chattered away about seeing Emmi and Grace the night before. I just wanted to keep the conversation light and easy. But I guess it was hard for Flynn to hear how we’d all gone out to the pub while he’d been working. How Emmi and Grace had spent the evening with Alex and James. How all these other boys had been there too.

  I stressed I’d only had one drink, then I tried to say something about missing him, about nobody last night being half as interesting as he was, but he cut me off.

  ‘Can I see your room then?’ he said aggressively.

  I took him upstairs feeling deeply uneasy.

  I’d spent ages tidying my room, then messing it up a bit so it didn’t look too neat and ordered. But Flynn didn’t take much notice – he glanced round at the wooden wardrobe and the little desk and the blue-and-green check duvet and the table covered with pots and bottles. Then he strode over to the window and stared outside. I walked up behind him. He was gripping his drink so tightly that his knuckles were white.

  ‘Flynn?’ I said. ‘What’s wrong?’

  He turned round, this vicious look in his eye. ‘You’re never going to understand, are you?’

  ‘Understand what?’ My heart pounded.

  ‘What you have.’ He waved his arm around, as if to indicate the whole house. ‘All this. All this amazing wealth. You take it all for granted, don’t you?’

  ‘No.’ I frowned. ‘And we’re not wealthy. My mum works. And my dad gives us what he can. Okay, so there??
?s enough money for this house, but we’re not rich or anything. I don’t see—’

  ‘No,’ Flynn snapped. ‘You don’t see at all. You don’t see what it’s like when you don’t have anything.’ His voice got deeper and louder, like it was catching in his throat. ‘You don’t see what it’s like when you worry about money all the time. When you work and work and it all goes on rent and crap food and crap clothes and there’s nothing left over even for a pair of frigging shoes.’ He spat the last few words out at me, his whole face darkened with anger.

  A sick, angry knot lodged itself in my chest.

  ‘It’s not my fault,’ I said, trying to stop my voice from shaking. ‘I didn’t make it like this.’ Tears welled up in my eyes and I turned away, not wanting him to see how much he’d upset me.

  ‘I realised something the other day doing that stupid play,’ Flynn snarled. ‘There’s this line of Romeo’s:

  “Need and oppression starveth in thy eyes,

  Contempt and beggary hangs upon thy back . . .”

  ‘You know how I know how to say that? It’s because I’ve lived it.’ His voice rose. ‘I’ve seen the need in my mum’s eyes. How she’s weighed down by people’s contempt for her because she’s got no money.’ He was shouting now. ‘People like you make me—’

  ‘Stop it!’ I yelled, turning to face him. ‘Okay so you’ve got no money. That doesn’t give you the right to hate everyone who has a little bit more. D’you hear me, Flynn? It’s not my family’s fault that you’re not well off. We don’t look down on you or your mum. That’s in your head.’

  The kitchen door slammed downstairs. Mum’s ever so subtle way of letting me know she was back. Great. I wondered how much of our shouting match she’d heard.

  Flynn was gazing down at me, this unreadable expression in his eyes. I put my hands on his arms. Immediately, I could feel the tension leaking out of them, his shoulders releasing down.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ he mumbled awkwardly. ‘I just hate it that I can’t go out with you properly. That you get to go out on a Saturday night with loads of blokes sniffing around. That you probably spend more money in one hour than I make all day.’

  He let out a long, heavy sigh.

  I twisted my arms up round his neck. His eyes were so beautiful – all soulful in the dimming light. ‘Actually, I hardly spent any money last night.’ I grinned. ‘Boys kept buying me drinks.’

  Flynn stared at me.

  ‘Is that supposed to make me feel better?’ he grunted. But a small smile started to creep across his mouth. He looked into my eyes, this deep, sexy look. ‘So you didn’t buy any drinks back?’ He smoothed his hands over my waist.

  I shivered, then stood on tiptoe, reaching up for him. ‘No, I saved all my money so I could buy you a drink tonight.’ I kissed him quickly before he could say anything, then drew back. ‘Please let me, Flynn. Please don’t make this a big deal. Why can’t you see it’s only money – and if I happen to have a few quid more than you, why can’t we just share it?’

  He looked down at me, his eyes like golden flints. ‘It doesn’t work that way,’ he said.

  ‘But it could,’ I smiled. ‘We can make it work however we want. It’s not like you’d be sponging off me. I mean, you earn loads of money. Well, some, anyway. And you give all that to your mum, don’t you?’

  He nodded.

  ‘So all I’m doing is giving some of it back to you.’

  ‘That’s the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard,’ he laughed, kissing me gently. Then he nuzzled at my ear. ‘You’re a bold piece,’ he murmured, running his hands down my bum. ‘A—’

  Without warning, Mum opened the door.

  Flynn and I both jumped. I sprang back, away from him.

  Mum looked Flynn up and down, then she turned to me. I could feel my face burning.

  ‘Finished learning your lines, then?’ she said, her voice heavy with sarcasm.

  ‘Why didn’t you knock?’ I snapped.

  Mum ignored me. She turned to Flynn expectantly.

  He said nothing.

  Mum strode across my bedroom carpet, her arm outstretched. ‘I’m assuming you’re Flynn?’

  He shook her hand. I noticed, with some admiration, that he did so without either blushing or flinching.

  And Mum looked pretty terrifying. She was wearing an expensive-looking suit and loads of make-up. In her heels she was nearly as tall as Flynn.

  She stood back, still staring at him. ‘I heard shouting,’ she said.

  Oh God.

  ‘It was just the play, Mum,’ I said quickly. ‘We were going over our lines.’

  Mum raised an eyebrow. ‘I don’t remember a scene in Romeo and Juliet where Romeo starts shouting at the Nurse?’

  Flynn folded his arms. His face took on the same sullen expression I’d seen him give Mr Nichols a thousand times.

  ‘It wasn’t the play,’ he said. ‘River and I were arguing.’

  ‘Oh?’ Mum raised her eyebrows. ‘What about?’

  ‘Mu-um.’ My heart was in my mouth. The tension between Mum and Flynn was practically touchable.

  Flynn stared at her stonily.

  ‘Well?’ Mum drew herself up. ‘I think I have a right to know why you were shouting at my daughter in my own house.’

  ‘Actually you don’t,’ Flynn said, now looking bored. ‘It’s none of your business.’

  ‘Flynn.’ I gaped at him. Okay, so Mum was being impossible, but couldn’t he hear how rude he sounded?

  Mum blinked. ‘I’d like you to leave, Flynn,’ she said.

  What? No. How was this happening?

  ‘Wait,’ I said.

  But Flynn was already walking to the door. ‘Bye, River,’ he said without looking round.

  I heard his feet on the stairs. I ran to the door.

  ‘River,’ Mum snapped. ‘You’re not going after him.’

  I spun round. ‘Why did you have to be like that?’ I shouted. Then I turned and ran downstairs.

  Flynn was almost at the end of the road when I caught up with him. I grabbed his hand and we walked along in silence for a minute. I didn’t know where I was going. Just that I couldn’t bear to leave him with all that anger still swirling around between us.

  I kept thinking about the way he had glared at Mum. Why had he done that? Why had he not at least tried to be nice?

  Flynn glanced down at me. ‘Well, that went well,’ he grinned.

  ‘Flynn, it’s not funny,’ I said. ‘Why did you have to wind her up like that?’

  He made a face. ‘She was rude to me first,’ he said.

  I rolled my eyes, ‘Can you hear how childish you sound?’ I said.

  Flynn shook my hand out of his. He stopped walking and looked at me, his face all thundery and closed up. ‘Fine. Run back to Mummy, then.’

  I exploded.

  ‘Jeez, Flynn. Going out with you is like being with a frigging bomb.’

  I stopped. I hadn’t meant to say ‘going out’. The truth was that although we’d spent a huge amount of time together this week, neither of us had talked about whether we were official or not.

  Flynn frowned at me. ‘What?’

  ‘You know,’ I went on, ignoring the ‘going out’ part of what I’d said. ‘Say the wrong thing and you’re liable to blow up. No warning. No prisoners. No grey areas. Just a big Pow.’

  Flynn’s eyes lightened into the shadow of a smile. ‘A big Pow?’ he said slowly.

  I stared at him, my anger draining away. I couldn’t stay mad. He was just too . . . too right. I loved everything about his face – the way the nose sloped and the lips curled. It was the most subtle, expressive face I’d ever seen in my life.

  I shivered. I’d run out of the house in just a T-shirt, and it was getting dark outside and the air was cold. Flynn put his hands on my arms, just like he had that night when I’d been sick. His face relaxed into a beautiful grin.

  ‘So we are officially going out, then?’ he said, pulling me towards him.


  My breath caught in my throat.

  ‘I guess,’ I grunted, sliding my arms round his back, wanting him so badly I could die. ‘So long as you can keep your big Pows under control.’

  I shivered again. He rubbed my back. ‘If I had a jacket, I’d let you wear it, you know,’ he murmured.

  ‘Yeah.’ I mimicked the harsh, deep way he’d spoken earlier. ‘But you’re too poor to have a frigging jacket.’

  For a second I wondered if he’d get all offended again, but he didn’t.

  ‘Actually I do have a jacket,’ he laughed, ‘but it’s so hideous I can’t bring myself to wear it. My mum bought it when I wasn’t there. Two pounds in some second-hand shop. A frigging fortune for her. She was so pleased with herself. But it’s horrible. Like something my da would . . .’ He stopped, suddenly, and buried his face in my hair. ‘Hey River,’ he said – and his voice sounded muffled. ‘D’you still want to go for a drink?’

  I nodded.

  He started kissing my neck, holding me tight. I held my breath, knowing something between us had shifted. That we were closer, somehow. That he was starting to let me in.

  ‘I reckon I’ve got enough money to buy you one drink,’ he murmured. ‘And I can drink tap water. Then you can buy me an orange juice. Then I’ll just carry on drinking water.’

  ‘Hey, Flynn.’ I gently pushed his face away from me. The look in his eyes was achingly tender. I wanted to tell him that I was falling in love with him. But it wasn’t the right time.

  Not now. Not yet. Not quite.

  16

  Three weeks passed. Flynn and I met up as often as we could. After rehearsals and at the weekends. Most of the time we were on our own, though sometimes we hung out with Grace and James.

  Flynn never joined in the rounds of drinks that were bought. He occasionally let me or James buy him an orange juice – but he was always careful to buy drinks back for us afterwards.

  I lost count of the number of times I watched him, hunched and brooding, counting out his coins in the palm of his hand before he went to the bar or agonising over whether he could afford a packet of crisps or a last cup of coffee.