Sarah Salway - Tell Me Everything

And, although it all happened on her bench and she must have been aware of us, I told her everything Tim had said that first time I met him, and how when Tim asked whether we could meet again, I told him this bench could be our regular spot. ‘Maybe tomorrow. I’m often here. She was a friend,’ I’d lied to him.

After the first ripples of shock at Jessica’s death had gone round the school, there was a curious quietness everywhere for weeks. Every excuse for not being happy was suddenly flawed.

‘Maybe if I was prettier. . . ’ But if you were looking for one word to describe Jessica, it would have been pretty.

‘Maybe if I had more money. . . ’ But Jessica’s family took two holidays a year. Once, for her fourteenth birthday, they took the whole class to a theme park for her party. Jessica got all her clothes in London, not the local Topshop like the rest of us. She wasn’t the sort of girl who needed a Saturday job.

‘Maybe if I was cleverer. . . ’ But Jessica was a top A student.

But now, when no one else but me seemed to bother to visit the bench any more, things seemed more equal. ‘We could have been friends,’ I told Jessica. ‘I used to be so unhappy as well.’ D.A.Y. My index finger traced the scars in the wood made by the letters.

So perhaps that was why, even before Tim arrived, I was feeling as if I might have a bit of potential too. I put my face down and brushed my hair back over my shoulder with the side of my hand like Jessica used to do. After Jessica died, I used to do it at home so often that my father banned hair-touching at table. I couldn’t have risked it at school either. It was definitely an in-crowd gesture, and might have drawn attention to me in a way my father wouldn’t have liked.

I must have been too busy doing the hair thing to hear Tim come. When I looked up, he was already sitting down on the other end of the bench, his head between his knees.

‘Are you OK?’ I asked.

‘Quick,’ he said. ‘Put your head down too. NOW!’

I copied him.

‘Don’t look up,’ he warned. ‘Shut your eyes if possible.’

I couldn’t. I looked at the ground instead. There were bits of chewing gum stuck under the bench. Cigarette butts, even a beer bottle. I made up my mind to tidy up sometime. For Jessica’s sake.

‘Wha. . . ’

‘Be quiet,’ Tim said. He put his arm round my shoulders to draw me closer to him. I could feel the heat of his body through his jumper. The outline of his fingers across my back burnt into me like infrared. He smelt of fabric conditioner and warm apples. I’d never been so close to a boy before. I tried hard to stop my body from tensing up, to relax more and enjoy the embrace.

‘We’re going to have to make a run for it,’ Tim said. He stood up and held out his hand, and I took it, clutching at his fingers as he pulled me into the bushes that lined the edge of the park. Just when I was thinking I couldn’t run any more, he stopped and we hid behind a tree for him to keep a watch out. He pulled the sleeves of his jumper down to cover my hands, holding on to my wrists so tightly. I did the same to him. It was as if we were grafting ourselves on to each other.

‘I know who it is,’ I said. ‘It’s my father. He’s found me.’

Tim hushed me. ‘It’s not,’ he replied. ‘I’ll keep you safe.’

I didn’t ask how he could be so certain. My heart was beating hard against his chest and the echo travelled up to my head. I wondered if Tim could hear the same noises as I could. The scuffle of leaves as a squirrel hunted for nuts, a dog barking in a garden somewhere near, the distant sound of a train announcement from the station. No one walking past us would be able to see us in our nest of leaves. I wasn’t sure how long we could stay there, not moving, but every time I tried to ask Tim what was happening, he put his lips down, hushing through my hair, his breath hot against my scalp.

We were so close, I smelt a flowery sweetness on his breath I couldn’t identify. It was the first time anyone had held me like that since my mother stopped touching me. Since the biology teacher business. I tried not to cry, but just rested my weight against his chest, my head lying on the soft pad of his shoulder.

We didn’t say anything. There didn’t seem the need.

Eventually, he let go of my wrists and we walked out on to the path together. Across the far side there were a few houses with their top lights still on, but apart from that there was no sign of life.

‘Will you?’ I asked.

‘What?’

‘Keep me safe?’

Tim nodded. ‘Tomorrow?’ he asked.

I smiled. He put one hand on my head, stroked my hair gently and then without saying another word, he turned. I watched him leave the park. He walked quicker than other people. He knew where he was going. When I couldn’t see him any more I sat back on the Seize the Day bench.

I wanted my heart to settle down before going back to Mr Roberts’s shop.

Chapter Four Chapter Four Chapter Five Chapter Six Chapter Seven Chapter Eight Chapter Nine Chapter Ten Chapter Eleven Chapter Twelve Chapter Thirteen Chapter Fourteen Chapter Fifteen Chapter Sixteen Chapter Seventeen Chapter Eighteen Chapter Nineteen Chapter Twenty Chapter Twenty-One Chapter Twenty-Two Chapter Twenty-Three Chapter Twenty-Four Chapter Twenty-Five Chapter Twenty-Six Chapter Twenty-Seven Chapter Twenty-Eight Chapter Twenty-Nine Chapter Thirty Chapter Thirty-One Chapter Thirty-Two Chapter Thirty-Three Chapter Thirty-Four Chapter Thirty-Five Chapter Thirty-Six Chapter Thirty-Seven Chapter Thirty-Eight Chapter Thirty-Nine Chapter Forty Chapter Forty-One Chapter Forty-Two Chapter Forty-Three Chapter Forty-Four Chapter Forty-Five Chapter Forty-Six Chapter Forty-Seven Acknowledgements About the Author Also by Sarah Salway Copyright About the Publisher Конец ознакомительного фрагмента. Текст предоставлен ООО «ЛитРес». Прочитайте эту книгу целиком, купив полную легальную версию на ЛитРес. Безопасно оплатить книгу можно банковской картой Visa, MasterCard, Maestro, со счета мобильного телефона, с платежного терминала, в салоне МТС или Связной, через PayPal, WebMoney, Яндекс.Деньги, QIWI Кошелек, бонусными картами или другим удобным Вам способом.

This is how I met Mr Roberts.

He caught me crying at one of the café tables they put up outside the Church on the High Street during spring and summer.

Despite the cold, I’d been sitting there for one hour, forty-two minutes refusing all offers of refreshments, even though I could see the volunteers pointing me out and tut-tutting amongst each other. Then a plump peachy woman came out wearing a white blouse and flowery skirt with one of those elasticated waists women her age wear for comfort although they’re always having to hoist the skirt back down from where it’s risen up under their tits. She told me I wasn’t to sit there any more. That the café tables were for proper customers only.

I started to cry, and suddenly this old man came up and told the waitress it was all right. That I was with him.

It was Mr Roberts, although of course I didn’t know that then. I was just relieved that everybody was now staring at him instead of me. He said nothing at first. Just bought me a cup of tea, pushed it over and sat there in silence until I raised my head.

‘What do they mean about being proper?’ I asked.

‘I suppose they want people who’ll pay,’ he said. ‘Although the Bible does have something to say about merchants in the temple.’