Burning Bright

  I sat on the staircase, watching everyone, feeling more lonely than ever.

  And then my phone rang. I didn’t hear it at first, over the party noise, but I picked it up after a few rings and squinted at the number.

  It was Flynn. He didn’t normally call me on my phone – thanks to Mum’s obsessive checking of my call log.

  I snatched the phone to my ear. ‘Hello?’

  ‘Hello, beautiful.’ Flynn’s strong, expressive voice sent a thrill of joy through me.

  ‘Hi,’ I said, grinning from ear to ear.

  ‘How are you?’ he said.

  ‘Fine.’ It was hard to hear him, thanks to the music next door. I stuck my finger in my ear to shut out the sound. ‘Bored, actually. I’m at this party and—’

  ‘A party?’ Flynn laughed, but there was a hollow sound to his voice.

  ‘Yeah,’ I said. ‘Emmi made me come.’

  ‘Is Alex there too?’ Flynn said.

  ‘Of course,’ I said. ‘He’s her boyfriend and it’s his mate’s party.’

  I stopped talking, worrying that Flynn might see me going to the same party as Alex as disloyal, after all the accusations Alex had made.

  ‘I’m not here because of Emmi and Alex,’ I went on. ‘It’s just something to do.’

  There was a long pause. All I could hear on the other end of the phone was Flynn’s shallow breathing.

  ‘Right,’ he snapped. ‘Well, I hope you all have a lovely time together.’

  ‘That’s not fair,’ I said, hurt by his harsh tone.

  ‘I tell you what’s not fair, River,’ Flynn spat. ‘You being there and me being here without you.’

  He sounded furious, like he was angry with me about it. Looking back, I guess he was just feeling miserable but, at the time, when I felt so lonely already, it was too much to take.

  ‘Well, whose fault’s that?’ I snapped, irritation bubbling up inside me. ‘If you could keep a lid on your temper, maybe you wouldn’t have forced your entire family to move abroad.’

  ‘Okay, well it’s good to know what you really think.’ Flynn’s voice was low and sarcastic. ‘Bye.’

  The line went dead. I stared at the phone. Flynn had hung up on me.

  The shock of it winded me for a second then searing misery rolled up from my gut. This was what I’d been afraid of happening . . . an argument – with no way of making up properly.

  I sat, too stunned even to cry for a couple of minutes, then I forced myself to get up and go back to the party. Everyone was still having a great time. I felt worse than ever. Part of me wanted to call Flynn back but I wasn’t the one who’d hung up. Why should I make the first move?

  I waited an hour. He didn’t call. My misery faded and I got angrier and angrier with him. I rang Mum and asked her to come and pick me up. I was dreading her checking my call log – but she was in a good mood and didn’t bother.

  I got home just after midnight and crept up to my room, still feeling furious. I went to bed and – eventually – to sleep. But Flynn still didn’t call.

  * * *

  I slept late and woke when Dad rang on our front door bell. He had come to take me and Stone to the commune for a few days. I checked my phone straight away. Nothing from Flynn.

  I had to speak to him before the long car journey up to the commune. Ignoring the angry, upset voice in my head which said he should be calling me, I rang him, but his phone was switched off.

  Now I felt really furious. How dare Flynn not call me? How dare he not answer?

  Dad put his head round my bedroom door and said we needed to leave – he wanted to get back to the commune as soon as possible.

  ‘Fine,’ I said. ‘I’ll be down in a sec.’

  I sat on my bed and tried Flynn again. Nothing. I felt sick. Flynn was angry with me – and all over nothing. Tears leaked out of my eyes. I had to reach him. I had to. Panic swirled in my chest. I could call again and leave a message – or send a text. A text seemed easiest. My thumb hovered over the keypad, as I wondered what to write. An apology? An explanation?

  As I started writing that I was sorry, the fear vanished and fury rose up inside me again. This was ridiculous. Flynn was being ridiculous. I mean, why should I be sorry? I hadn’t done anything wrong. I wasn’t the one who’d hung up. Flynn hadn’t even bothered to call me. He was probably still sure he was right, and angry with me – that’s if he was thinking about me at all.

  I switched off my mobile. Let’s see how he liked not being able to get hold of me.

  I shoved the phone under my mattress, picked up my bag and stormed downstairs to where Dad was waiting.

  20

  We arrived at the commune just after midday. Dad explained that Gemma hadn’t been well recently – the same problem, he said, that had made her ill and prevented him from visiting us a few weeks ago. I got the strong sense that there was something important he wasn’t telling us, but he kept saying it was nothing to worry about and, to be honest, my mind was still all on Flynn. I was starting to regret having left my phone behind. Not that I wanted to call him – but I didn’t have anyone’s numbers stored anywhere else, so I couldn’t speak to any of my friends, either.

  Gemma was sitting outside in the sunshine, waiting for us. She and Dad had a quiet word then Dad made some sandwiches and took me and Stone off for a long walk. Stone grumbled about it but I was quite happy to be outside. Dad’s at his best in the open air – and, unlike practically everyone else in my life, he never pushes me to talk about stuff when I’m not ready.

  By the time we got back, I’d resigned myself to not having my phone. It was only for four more days. And maybe time away from the rest of my life would be good.

  I had a bath, then it was time for the big dinner they had in the communal kitchen every night. Residents took it in turns to cook. There were usually lots of people around, but the commune was fairly quiet at the moment. One family had just moved out, while John and Julia were away, leaving just the nerdy computer guy and Ros – my favourite member of the commune – an outspoken, ex-actress friend of Gemma’s who was great fun except when she started talking about feminist politics.

  Ros and Gemma had made a huge veggie lasagne. Normally I love Gemma’s food. But today it tasted like mucus and cardboard. I ate a couple of mouthfuls then told Dad I had a headache. I went up to Dad and Gemma’s apartment. I was sleeping in the small room – kind of a storeroom with a camp bed in it. Dad and Gemma also had a private living room – with a sofa bed where Stone was sleeping – and their own bedroom and bathroom. That’s how commune accommodation works – everyone gets a few private rooms but is expected to cook and eat with the group.

  I curled up on the bed. The room was dark and cold, but I couldn’t be bothered to get undressed. In the end I had to pee. When I came back I crawled under the covers and lay there, feeling numb.

  Eventually, footsteps outside told me Dad and Gemma were coming to bed. There was a soft rap on my door then it creaked open. I lay still, eyes tight shut, trying to make my breathing slow and even. The door shut again and the footsteps padded away. I opened my eyes and stared into the darkness – always deeper at the commune than at home – then buried myself further under the covers.

  It was a long time before I fell asleep.

  When I woke up, the sun was shining. It was a beautiful day. Dad and Gemma were out in the field below my window, wandering hand in hand down to the trees that formed a barrier with the road. I felt better for my long sleep. Somehow it was comforting knowing that Flynn couldn’t reach me, even if he wanted to.

  I worked outside all morning with Ros. She didn’t mention Flynn or ask me any awkward questions, but she made me laugh with her tales and jokes about her ex-boyfriends. Later, I worked on my GCSEs – forcing myself for some masochistic reason to make a real effort with the subjects I most hated – maths and science.

  The next day I spent the whole time outside with Dad. There was always lots to do in the commune – planting and weeding a
nd stuff. I’d lost interest in it a couple of years ago but right now it was just what I needed. I could tell Dad was pleased I was joining in.

  Late afternoon on my second day I was helping Dad mend the hen hutch. I didn’t much like the hens – the scratchy way they walked and their beady eyes. So I looked away, towards the sky, turning round only to hand Dad nails and bits of wood when he asked for them.

  Dad’s a silent kind of guy. He had his shirt sleeves rolled up and was concentrating hard on what he was doing, his tongue just peeking out from between his lips. So I had plenty of time to think. I tried to focus on the English essay I was planning to write the next day. But my mind kept drifting off towards Flynn.

  What was he doing right now? Had he tried to call me yet? How did he feel about my phone being switched off?

  ‘River?’ Dad’s voice filtered through my thoughts. ‘River?’

  ‘Mmmn?’ I squinted towards his silhouette. The sun was shining high and bright in the sky behind him.

  ‘I asked you to pass me one of the long nails,’ Dad said calmly.

  ‘Right.’ I turned round and rummaged in the toolbox at my feet. A shadow fell over the ground around me as I picked out a five-inch nail.

  Dad was standing over me, blocking the sunlight. I handed him the nail.

  ‘Thanks.’ He carried on standing there for a moment then cleared his throat. ‘River, I didn’t want to load you down with this because I know you’ve been through a lot, recently.’ He hesitated, squinting at me.

  I smiled, registering how rough and weather-beaten his skin looked. ‘Spit it out, Dad,’ I said.

  ‘Okay, well . . .’ Dad rubbed his forehead. ‘When I said Gemma was ill, what I meant was that she’d had a miscarriage . . .’

  ‘Really?’ I stared at him, shocked. I hadn’t expected that. ‘She was pregnant?’

  Dad sighed. ‘Yes, we had a scare a while back which is why we didn’t say she was pregnant before and why I couldn’t see you a few weeks ago and, I suppose, why I haven’t been as focused as I should have been on you.’ He paused. ‘She finally lost the baby about ten days ago.’

  ‘Is she okay?’ I said.

  ‘Gemma’s fine, love,’ Dad said. ‘The baby was very small and there’s no problem with Gemma having more.’

  ‘More?’ I looked at him over the hutch, suddenly feeling all churned up. ‘Do you . . . want more?’

  Dad met my gaze. ‘The baby wasn’t planned, but it would have been very much loved.’ He paused. ‘If it was just me then, no, I probably wouldn’t choose to have more children. You and Stone are everything to me. But Gemma doesn’t have kids of her own. It’s natural she wants to be a mother.’

  I nodded. I didn’t know what to think. It seemed selfish to object. After all, I wasn’t a little kid myself anymore. Anyway, a baby would be cool.

  ‘Was . . . was it a girl or a boy?’ I asked.

  ‘A girl.’ Dad looked sad.

  A girl. She would have been my little sister. Like Caitlin was to Flynn. My mind filled with all the things we could have done. I might have dressed her up and taken her out. I could have taught her to swim and do her hair in different styles and held her hand when she got scared in the night or at the movies. But now . . . my eyes brimmed with tears.

  ‘Poor Gemma,’ I said. ‘Poor you, Dad.’

  Dad walked around the hutch and gave me a hug. I tilted my face to the sun, letting it warm my face. Then Dad drew back.

  ‘Part of me didn’t want to tell you . . . didn’t want to share all the hurt that we feel. Then I realised you’re almost an adult and that’s what grown-ups who love each other do: share our pain with those who care about us.’ He paused. ‘So . . . do you still miss Flynn?’

  I froze, pulling away. Dad hadn’t mentioned Flynn since we arrived. I’d kind of assumed he thought I was over him.

  ‘What makes you think that?’ I asked, my face burning.

  ‘Because I have eyes,’ Dad said.

  I stared at him. Normally he was dead laid-back. If I didn’t answer him he’d assume I didn’t want to talk and leave me alone. But right now he was actually frowning at me, his bright blue eyes narrowed.

  ‘Please, River,’ he said. ‘If you’re hurting, I’d like to help.’

  ‘I don’t want to talk about it,’ I muttered.

  ‘Well I do.’ Dad put his hands on his hips. ‘I’m worried about you. Gemma said she thought she heard you crying last night.’

  ‘That was nothing.’ My lips trembled.

  Dad’s face crumpled with sympathy. ‘Riv, I hate to see you so unhappy.’ He paused. ‘Has Flynn been in touch with you? Please talk to me.’

  I looked down. A long nail lay at my feet, glinting in the sun. I couldn’t see the point of talking to Dad about Flynn. I mean, what would I say? That I missed him? The words hardly covered how deeply I felt – how my heart felt like it had been ripped out of my chest. Anyway, how could Dad understand?

  ‘I’m sorry, River,’ Dad said slowly. ‘It must be very hard . . . missing him.’

  I still said nothing.

  Dad sighed. ‘You know, rage like he showed – with no boundaries – that’s a scary reality. Short of some kind of spiritual turnaround or a lot of hard work in therapy – well, it’s difficult for people to change . . .’

  I looked away.

  Dad sighed again. ‘Okay,’ he said. ‘Okay.’ He squatted down by the hen hutch and we carried on with our mending. Gemma came out with some water for us a few minutes later. I gave her a big hug, not knowing how to tell her I was sorry about the baby. I think she understood. She said thank you as she gave me a big squeeze back. I sat, resting against the hutch, and watched as she talked quietly with Dad about some shopping that was needed.

  I picked up the long nail I’d noticed on the ground earlier and rolled it over my palm. The metal was warm in my hand. How could Dad possibly know what I was going through? He was so settled in his life with Gemma. Plus, for all his concern, he had still stood right beside Mum and agreed I shouldn’t see Flynn anymore.

  I shoved the nail into the earth at my feet and turned back to the hen hutch.

  Two days later Dad drove us home.

  I went straight upstairs, retrieved my phone and switched it on. My heart stopped as I scanned the voicemails and texts. At least six from Flynn, plus several from Emmi and Grace.

  I played Flynn’s calls – a series of increasingly desperate messages, ending with him asking if I was dumping him:

  ‘. . . and please listen, I love you and I’m so sorry and please call me . . .’

  My heart hammered as I sat on the edge of the bed and rang Flynn’s number. The mobile was out of range. No. My heart sank. I couldn’t even leave him a message. Before I had time to think about it too much I punched in a text: Been away. No phone. Back now. Call me. I hesitated then added: I love you.

  I pressed ‘send’. There. It was done.

  I went back downstairs to say goodbye to Dad. Mum was full of how healthy I looked from all my time spent outdoors at the commune.

  ‘And River did loads of GCSE work,’ Dad said proudly. ‘She’s really turned things around, you know.’

  Mum sniffed, but I could tell she was pleased.

  I clutched the phone in my pocket. How could my parents be so unaware of what I was going through? I suddenly felt horribly alone. I said goodbye to Dad and slunk off back upstairs. I tried Flynn several more times, but his phone stayed out of range.

  I slept badly all night, drifting in and out of anxiety-fuelled dreams. I woke up late, all bleary, to the sound of my mobile ringing.

  I seized it up from beside the bed before I was even properly awake. ‘Hello?’

  ‘River? Thank God.’ His voice broke as he spoke.

  ‘Oh Flynn.’ I burst into tears. Maybe it was the relief of speaking to him at last. Maybe it was all the stress of the past few days. Maybe it was just the sound of his voice.

  ‘I’m so sorry I got so cross,’ Flynn said. ?
??When I thought about it, I realised you had every right to go to any stupid party you wanted to. I tried to get hold of you the next day, but you didn’t answer . . .’

  ‘I . . . I was at my dad’s commune,’ I sniffed. ‘I left my phone at home.’

  ‘I missed you so much.’ Flynn’s voice sounded miserable and heavy. He sighed. ‘This is so awful, River. Being apart like this.’

  ‘I know.’ I sat up in bed, wiping the tears off my face. ‘So where were you last night?’ I said. ‘How come you were out of range?’

  ‘Just out,’ he said. ‘Nothing special.’

  I frowned. There was something guarded about his voice. Flynn was such a good actor it was hard to be sure, but I sensed there was something he wasn’t telling me.

  ‘Out where?’ I said.

  ‘Just out. With a few mates. Some stupid thing . . . It doesn’t matter.’

  ‘What happened?’

  A long silence.

  ‘I just . . . did something stupid,’ Flynn stammered.

  ‘What kind of stupid?’

  ‘Nothing that affects us,’ he insisted. ‘Look, it doesn’t matter, Riv, all that matters is that we’re okay and I’ve got a job and I’m going to save my money and we’ll see each other soon, yeah?’

  ‘Okay.’ I smiled at the earnestness in his voice but, a few minutes later, I came off the phone feeling troubled. There was something Flynn was keeping from me about what he’d been up to. What was the ‘stupid’ thing he’d done? Had he got into another fight? Was it something to do with another girl?

  I called Emmi and she invited me round on Saturday night. Her parents were away and she, Alex and a few other friends were hanging out in their house. I made out I had to go to a family party with Mum and said I’d see her at school on Monday. I couldn’t face Emmi and Alex and their loud, show-off friends. I didn’t belong with those people. I didn’t belong here at all.

  I only belonged with Flynn.

  And that’s when I decided: I was going to go to Ireland and see Flynn. I’d already saved quite a lot from my job at Café Yazmina. To make up enough to pay for my ticket, I’d pretend I needed money for a school trip, maybe forge a letter from school to convince Mum. However I did it, I was going to get myself to Ireland and see Flynn, face to face. I sat there all evening, planning it out. I even started on the fake school letter, sneaking into Mum’s files to find an old one I could use to scan the letterhead. Once I had the cash in my hand, I would simply tell Mum I was spending the weekend with Dad. Then I’d just leave. By the time they realised I wasn’t with either of them, I’d already be on the plane.