One of Us (20 page)

We walk to the end of the platform, where steps lead up to a pedestrian bridge and the station concourse. But when we get there, it's clear that the station is closed for the night. Not only that, the doors to the street are locked.

“Looks like we're stuck here until morning. We'll be breaking the curfew.” Greg frowns. “Brer Magnus will be worried.” He notices me looking down at the track. “Don't even think about it. There might be a live rail.”

There's a rush below us as an intercity train streams past. We go back downstairs to the platform. The waiting room is open. It's cold, but at least there are benches to sit on.

I shrug. “It's no big deal. We'll just wait, then. I like being out at night anyway.”

“On your broomstick?” murmurs Greg. He raises his eyebrow, but now it looks teasing rather than disapproving.

“Hey!” I say. “I was trying to be positive.”

“Have you got any food?”

I shake my head. “You?”

Greg holds up an apple.

“We'll have to eat chocolate.”

We tip all our cash onto the bench. His fingers brush against mine as we sort the coins. I want to hold his hand again. But I don't think he noticed. There's enough money for just one bar and we each have a bottle of water from the Reconciliation event. The chocolate falls into the tray with a
thunk
and Greg is so pleased he laughs.

We go back into the waiting room. I sit down in the far corner. Greg shuffles up so that I am wedged right in. “Huddling together for warmth,” he says. “It's what you have to do to prevent exposure.”

“Crushing me to death, more like.”

He moves away and I wish I hadn't said anything. Then he puts the chocolate bar and the apple on the bench. “Dinner.” He takes a small penknife out of his backpack, and cuts the apple in half. I take the knife from him and pull open all the gadgets. It has a pair of scissors, a saw, a screwdriver, and a corkscrew.

“What's this for?” I tap a spikelike thing.

“It's for taking stones out of horses' hooves.”

I nod. “Handy.” I close it up and pass it back to him.

He opens the chocolate bar. It has five pieces and he gives me three. I break off one and try to snap it in two. But it's far too cold, so I bite it in half and stick the other half in his mouth. My finger touches his lower lip and I look away.

“Fair shares,” I say quickly, to hide my embarrassment.

“If you could have anything you wanted to eat, what would you have?” asks Greg.

“A cup of tea,” I say. “What about you?”

“Chicken and rice,” says Greg. “Hot chocolate.”

“Hot chocolate would be good.”

“And one of those serious camping sleeping bags people use on mountains.” He looks at me, smiling his half smile. “Two, I mean.”

“And woolly hats,” I add, feeling guilty. I left Celestina's hat on the train.

Greg shifts over and looks at me. Then he unties my scarf and knots it around my head and under my chin like a bonnet. I remember that's how I tied the scarf he gave me in that first meeting at the Institute.

But I sit very still and stop myself from putting my hands up and pulling him toward me.

He laughs. He's just messing about. “There you go,” he says. “Woolly hat. Cover your ears.”

“What?” I say, pretending not to hear.

“Very funny. Will you stay on at the Institute?” Greg asks me, more seriously.

“If I can.” It's the only home I have now.

“What will you do if you don't?”

“I don't know.” I don't want to think about that. “What about you?” I ask quickly.

“I'm changing schools. The Institute's really good for Arts, but not so great for Science. So if I want to be a doctor . . .”

“Oh yeah, you said.”

Outside, the main lamp goes out, leaving just a dim maintenance light. In the sudden darkness I look sideways up at Greg. My hand reaches up and touches his face.

He turns toward me.

“Just checking,” I say quickly, pulling back my hand and looking down. “The bleeding's stopped.”

“Verity?” says Greg. His voice is close to my ear.

First my heart lifts, but then it sinks, because he's going to start with all the questions, all the questions I don't have answers for, and he's being friendlier than
he's ever been, and it will be hard to put him off with flippant one-liners the way I usually do.

“Tell me about your family,” I ask before he has a chance to speak. “How many sisters do you have again?”

“Two.”

“And brothers?”

“None.” He doesn't ask me back, because he already knows I don't have any.

“I'd like to have brothers and sisters,” I say. I can't let him see how I feel about him, I shouldn't be feeling it. “You wouldn't be a bad brother. Maybe I'll borrow you.”

Greg is silent. Then he says, “You
are
my Sister.”

I don't know what to say. It feels like he accepts me.

Greg speaks again. “Angelina's nine, and Meredith is fourteen. They're abroad, with our parents.”

“Do you miss them?” I'm glad the conversation has turned away from me and toward Greg.

“I'm used to it now. And I'm going this summer.” All the same, his voice sounds sad.

“What's it like there?”

“Hot,” he says. “Different animals, different plants. We don't have apples in our garden; we have pineapples and pawpaws and guavas.”

“We had an apple tree,” I begin. But then I stiffen, remembering that that tree was in Grandma's garden in Yoremouth. I can't talk about Grandma to Greg.

He turns his head toward me.

“Um, my old foster family.”

But I'm thinking of Grandma's house, with its dark hallway and silver mirror. And how there were
no pictures in that house, not even photos.

“You've had a hard life,” says Greg. “But maybe it's made you strong.”

I don't know what to say. “Mmm.”

“Or maybe it's just made you snarky?” He gives me a nudge with his elbow.

“Huh!” I need to change the subject. “Did you always live abroad?” I ask. “Before the Institute?”

“Pretty much,” says Greg. “What about you? Did you always live in Gatesbrooke?”

“Yes,” I say. “Mostly in the New City. In fact, you know that time we went there? With Emanuel and Celestina, you had your Math lesson? That was the first time I went right into the Old City.”

“To the Meeting Hall,” says Greg.

A chill sinks through me. “Yes.”

We sit there quietly for a while.
Why did you have to bring that up now, Greg?
I want to ask. But it's no surprise. I suspected he was following me that day, and now I know for sure. It's good that he's reminded me of how far from being friends we really are. I've known all along that these feelings have got to stop. Even if he liked me too, it could never work. One of us a liar, and the other a spy.

Greg's arm feels warm against mine, but the rest of me is getting colder and colder. I can't even feel my hands or feet anymore.

“What do you want to do, when you're older?” Greg asks me.

I think about this. I can tell the truth, because it's all just air. “I'd like to be an artist.” I think of my
walk around the Old City. “I'd like to live on a canal boat, with my dog.”

“Let me guess,” says Greg. “A scruffy brown-and-white spaniel?”

That makes me smile. Raymond. It's nice talking to Greg when I can't see his quizzical raised eyebrow. “What about you?”

“Maybe travel?” he says. “I might have a yacht and sail around the world.”

“I'll come with you,” I say. “I'd like to see the world.”

“What about your dog?”

“He can come too. Dogs like swimming.” I move my hands about to try and get the circulation going.

Greg picks up my hand. “You have very, very cold hands,” he says, in his frowning voice. He cups both my hands in his and rubs them gently. His hands are so warm. He puts his arm around me and pulls me close. “You're shivering.” He starts taking his jacket off.

“I'm not taking your coat again,” I say.

“You're very stubborn.” Greg pulls his backpack over. “Look, I've got my blazer in here. What about that?” He takes it out.

“All right.” I stand up and put it on over Celestina's thin navy one.

Greg looks at me in the darkness. “Very elegant.”

I sit down again, close to Greg, but only because it's warmer that way.

“You're still shivering,” he says. “It's too cold to sleep.”

“Mmm,” I say. “Better not to try.”

We sit there in silence for a while.

“Poor cold little Verity,” says Greg at last. He puts his arm around me.

“Poor cold little Gregory,” I say back. I can't believe how normal my voice sounds.

I don't move. I know Greg doesn't mean anything by it. All the same, when he pulls me close to his side I let myself slip toward him, so near that I can feel his face against my hair. I close my eyes, even though it's already dark. This is just one moment, that's all. I can have this one moment.

We sit in the dark tucked up in the corner waiting for the night to pass. I don't mind how long it lasts. My head is against Greg's neck. I can feel his breath in my hair. I wish. I wish I could tell him. I wish I could tell him everything.

“Greg?”

“Are you not asleep?” Greg says quickly.

“Night,” I say.

“Night,” says Greg. And something lightly touches the top of my head.

Did Greg just give me a good-night kiss? But I don't say anything, because if he did, it was only like my kiss-it-better kiss. A little bit of nothing.

CHAPTER 22

I
T
'
S
9:15
IN
the morning when we get back from Limbourne. We walk up the drive. Already the closeness of the night is evaporating. I look sideways at Greg, and a kind of pain takes hold of me. We walk carefully apart from each other.
Greg, the things I say to you aren't the things I think about you.

Brer Magnus is standing at the window of his office watching us walk up the drive. He knows exactly who comes in and who goes out. I think Greg is nervous too.

Brer Magnus meets us in Reception and tells us to go to his office. But when we get there, he asks me to wait in the corridor. I look at Greg, but he accepts this and goes in. All the worry comes rumbling back. I'm supposed to meet Oskar in three days to give him the list of names. I'm so glad I put the visitors' book box back. But even so, it'll only cover me until they have another meeting. And isn't there one next weekend?

Brer Magnus closes the door, and I can't hear anything they say.

After a few minutes Greg comes out. He looks straight at me but he doesn't say anything. Our eyes lock together. Greg looks away first, and I walk into Brer Magnus's office, leaving the door open behind me. Being in here renews the worry that I haven't done anything about the visitors' book. What did Greg and Brer Magnus talk about?

“Greg has told me what happened,” says Brer Magnus.

I nod.

“Well.” He stands up. “I'm sure you want to get to your class.”

I turn toward the door. “Yes. OK.”

“Oh, and Verity?” he says. “You seem to be wearing Greg's jacket. Surely you remember what I said about girls wearing men's clothes?”

I look down. “Oh, yes.” I take the jacket off. And feel myself turning red.

I can give Greg his jacket back at lunch. I go to the Sisters' house. It feels like a thousand years since I was here. I sit down on my bed, Greg's jacket still over my arm. It smells of the cold night at Limbourne station, and some other scent. Soap, deodorant? Something that Greg uses. I put it up to my face and breathe it in.