Unspeakable (15 page)

A bit freaked out, if I’m honest
.

Luke stares at the floor. He looks like he’s struggling with something, so I wait.

‘There’s this thing I’ve wanted to do for ages. And I …’ He breaks off and laughs, then shuffles towards me, until he’s so close the soft hairs on his arms brush against mine. There’s a tiny scar next to his nose. Why haven’t I noticed it before? Luke gives me a nervous smile. ‘For some reason, I woke up and decided that today was the day.’

Ever so gently, slowly, he grasps my chin, tilting it towards him. His eyes meet mine. I’m trapped. I can’t look away.

What are you doing?

His voice is husky. ‘I really, really want to kiss you.’

Eh?

Before I can even begin to process what’s happening, he leans forward and presses his lips against mine.

First kiss! My first kiss. It’s … Wow! It’s nice. Luke tastes of lemon. His stubble prickles me. He’s tender, slow. Oh! There’s his tongue. I wasn’t expecting that! What do I do?

But he shows me. And it’s nice. Really nice.

Luke pulls away. He’s laughing! What did I do wrong? I’m actually going to die of embarrassment.

‘Sorry,’ he says. ‘You have no idea how long I’ve wanted to do that.’

I redden and look away, but I’m smiling too.

‘Will you go out with me?’ Luke blurts. ‘To the cinema or something.’

I’m nodding. Why am I nodding? What just happened?

Luke moves in for another kiss, but Jasmine calls up the stairs and he stops. ‘Megan! Your mum’s looking for you.’

Something dark flashes across Luke’s eyes. Then they soften and he settles for a peck on the lips. ‘You’d better go back down. How’s next weekend?’

I nod and smile, wondering what the hell I’m doing.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

My date with Luke comes around quickly. Far too quickly. Jasmine is ecstatic about the whole thing, which, in a strange way, makes me even more determined to try things out with Luke.

Jasmine didn’t even realise that Luke was at the barbecue. I think he disappeared soon after our kiss, which is just as well because Jasmine would’ve been teasing him about it all afternoon.

The kiss was sweet and lovely. Luke is sweet and lovely. But is he really what I want? I don’t want to use him, hurt him, but how can I be sure until I’ve given things a go?

Luke takes me to the cinema in Bournemouth on Saturday afternoon. On the bus, his knee keeps knocking against mine. I don’t know if he’s doing it deliberately or if it’s just because we’re going over loads of potholes. I try to remember if his knee used to knock against mine when we were on the school bus,
but it didn’t matter as much then. Luke’s hands rest on his thighs, but they look odd, like he’s arranged them there. I wonder if he wants to hold my hand.

The bumps in the road are making my stomach squirm. I’ve been nauseous all morning.

‘You look nice,’ Luke says with a shy smile. ‘Really pretty.’

I mentally thank Jasmine for making me wear this turquoise top. Bright colours aren’t usually my thing, but I couldn’t resist after she told me I looked hot in it.

‘How did you get on with that new psychologist you had at school?’ Luke asks.

I nod and write:
Really good. He got me to hum. Never thought I’d be able to do that again. I mean, I didn’t think I’d be able to do it in front of other people
.

Luke stares out of the window for a moment, then turns to me and says, ‘I miss hearing your voice, you know.’

I smile, managing to meet his gaze for a couple of seconds – enough to notice that Luke’s light-blue shirt perfectly matches his eyes. He looks good as well. I should’ve told him, but it seems a bit lame to say it now.

At the cinema, we have a gentle argument about what to watch. I’m happy with this alien blockbuster that’s just come out, but Luke insists he doesn’t mind going for the teen romance based on some bestselling book. In the end, he gets his way. It’s hard to win an argument when you can’t speak.

He also insists on buying me snacks. I honestly don’t think I could eat anything, so I end up choosing a kids’ portion, which comes with a free plastic toy: an action figure with a massive,
rippled torso and ridiculously small legs. Luke takes the piss, but he has great fun playing with it while we’re waiting for the film to start, walking it up and down my arms, waving it around and making it talk in a high-pitched, girly voice. I giggle and roll my eyes. When people start giving us looks, I take it off him and put it in my bag. He pouts a bit and I resist the urge to push his lips into a smile.

While the trailers are on, I glance at a couple sitting not far away. They’re about our age. The girl is pretty, with skin so black it almost shines. I like her long, tightly braided hair and wonder what it would feel like to run my fingers through it. Her boyfriend is whispering something in her ear and she’s smiling a secret, sexy smile.

The film starts, but I can’t really concentrate on it. Luke’s hand is inching towards mine. A couple of times, he lifts it off his lap, leaves it hovering for a few moments, then puts it back again. About half an hour in, he makes a sudden move and grasps my hand. Then he relaxes.

My skin gets all hot and sweaty. It’s so bad Luke has to let go and subtly wipe his palm on his jeans. My face flares up.

What’s wrong with you?

I jump. I’m an idiot. That’s what’s wrong with me. I’m sitting here on a date with someone I don’t know how I feel about. I’m possibly leading him on, I’m probably going to hurt him, and I might end up losing him as a friend.

Luke is persistent. He grabs my hand again and gives it a
gentle squeeze to let me know it’s OK. His skin feels different to Jasmine’s: more rough, as I’d expect from a boy, but also more bony, not quite as comfortable. Holding his hand is weird. And it doesn’t get any less weird.

After the film, most of which I don’t remember, we go to this Italian place near the cinema. It’s nowhere special – it’s in a shopping centre and has fake tomato vines on the walls – but the spaghetti carbonara is good.

Jasmine has sent loads of texts. I have a quick look when I go to the loo, just in case she’s had any more nasty threats, but they’re all about the date:

Has he kissed you yet?

Did he pay?

What’s he wearing?

Did you sit on the back row?

I send her a quick reply, promising to tell her everything later.

When I get back to the table, Luke starts to talk about the film. I write him a note on a napkin to say:
I bet Jasmine would’ve loved it
.

Luke pauses, gives me this strange look and says, ‘Yeah, well, she’s not here.’

I stare at the green chequered tablecloth until my vision starts to blur. I can see Luke’s hand clutching the edge of the table so hard the blood is draining from his fingertips. What did I do? Why is he so mad?

Then he takes a deep breath and releases his grip, one finger
at a time. ‘Sorry,’ he says with a soft laugh. ‘Don’t even know why I said that! Hey, let’s get some dessert.’

I groan and hold my stomach, shaking my head.

‘C’mon. I’ve seen you devour one of those ice cream sundaes at Harry’s. I know you have space for dessert. I even know that your favourite ice cream is caramel, especially if it’s caramel swirl with fudge pieces. See? Impressed?’

I look up, catch his eye for a second and offer a quick smile. How did he even remember that?

I give in and we order a dessert to share. While we wait, Luke picks out a couple of cheesy lines from the film and mimics them in a stupid voice. I laugh. Luke makes me laugh a lot. And he makes me feel good about myself. But as he’s chatting, all I’m doing is trying to figure out how to explain that it doesn’t feel right.

We catch the bus back to Brookby. Luke is struggling to keep the conversation going. I think he’s just about exhausted every topic, from orienteering, to sailing, to football. ‘This is really embarrassing,’ he admits. ‘All I’ve done is go on about me. I’m sick of hearing my own voice!’

I smile.

‘I hear you’ve taken some wicked photos. What kind of things do you photograph?’

The forest, mostly
, I write.
Animals, trees, the heath
.

‘Can I see them some time?’

I nod, though I’m not sure he’ll feel the same after I’ve let him down. Oh, Luke. Please don’t be too hurt. I don’t want to lose you.

I’m a wreck on the walk home. Is he going to kiss me? What do I do? Maybe he won’t. He is. I know he is. It’s not fair to let him, but what’s the other option? Try to explain with a note scrawled on the back of a cinema ticket? I can’t do that. I need time to work out what I’m going to say. This is such a mess!

When we reach my house, Luke stops. He looks hopeful. Even though I shouldn’t, a part of me does want him to kiss me again. Because it was nice the first time. Because it’s just nice that someone wants to kiss me.

I take a brave step towards him and close my eyes. I feel his breath on my face before I feel his lips. Then I relax. Luke’s so good at this. I kind of sigh into his mouth: a happy sigh.

‘Thanks for the date,’ he whispers, his forehead resting on mine. ‘Glad I finally got to take you out.’

Luke waits until I’m safely inside before he leaves.

I close the front door and lean back against it, my heart pumping way too fast.

Over the next few days, I think about the kisses a lot, and how much I liked them. But nice kisses aren’t enough. It’s not right. I know it’s not right, so it’s not fair to carry on. Luke’s texted a couple of times. I’ve texted back, but avoided making any firm plans. I tried to write him a letter, but every version so far has ended up in the bin.

I wake one morning with flutters in my chest. Jasmine and I are going on a bike ride today. The air is still and it feels muggy, with grey clouds hanging low in the sky, but I can’t wait to get
out there and show off the forest. I want Jasmine to see it how I see it, to fall in love with it too.

Mum has never been into outdoorsy stuff, but when I was little, Grandpa and me used to walk together. I remember listening for the rustle of a sweet wrapper as he pulled a toffee from his pocket. He always had a treat in one pocket and a fistful of birdseed in the other. ‘You’ll know I’ve lost my marbles when I get them mixed up!’ he joked.

I loved the story of how Gran and Grandpa met. He used to tell me while we were walking, the lines beside his mouth creasing like crumpled paper as he smiled. ‘I met your Gran in 1940, during a blackout. We were sixteen. Both walking down the same road in the dark. We just got chatting. I knew then that she was the one.’

All I ever wanted was for someone to love me the way Grandpa loved Gran. He sent her photos of himself, when they were separated by the war, and wrote beautiful messages on the back:
Your heart will always be mine. All my love is yours
. Before he died, he asked to be buried with a lock of her hair, saying that he wanted a piece of her to always be with him.

I imagine telling Grandpa how I feel about Jasmine. ‘You can’t help who you fall for,’ he’d probably say. Then he’d gaze at Gran with that adoring expression he reserved just for her.

‘Megan!’ Mum bellows.

I jump.

‘Jasmine’s here!’

She’s here!

‘Megan? Are you awake?’

I loiter in my bedroom doorway, unwilling to venture out in case Jasmine sees me looking like a state.

Mum comes up. She takes in my creased pyjamas and unbrushed hair. ‘Oh, she’s going to be a while, Jasmine. She’s not even dressed. Why don’t we have a cuppa?’

I rush to the bathroom and grab my toothbrush. Jasmine’s voice floats up the stairs. Suddenly I can’t wait to leave. I spit out the toothpaste, not even bothering to rinse properly.

Ten minutes later, I bound down the stairs and leap over the last one, slapping my bare feet on the floorboards.

Mum’s face pops round the kitchen door. ‘Someone’s in a good mood. Why haven’t you got any socks on?’

I pad through to the kitchen, manage a small wave and smile at Jasmine, grab a leaflet about a garden fête, and scribble
wash load
on the back.

Mum sighs. ‘Sorry, love. I completely forgot. I’ll do one today.’

I tap Jasmine’s arm and point to the door. She unwraps her fingers from the mug of tea she’s cradling, slips off the chair and follows me. I sneak a little glance. She’s wearing a pistachio-coloured jumper. Her red coat completely clashes with it, but follows the gorgeous inward swoop of her waist.

‘Wait a minute!’ Mum calls. ‘Aren’t you going to eat anything before you go?’

I shake my head.

‘Don’t worry, my mum packed us loads of food.’ Jasmine rattles her backpack. ‘We’re not going to starve.’

For a moment, Mum looks disgruntled, until a smile darts across her face. ‘I’ve got something you can have!’ She pulls a
couple of cans of cheap cola out the fridge and rummages around the biscuit barrel until she finds two crummy Penguin bars that have been festering there for ever.

Jasmine is going to be a great actress. The way she grins and thanks Mum, you’d think she’d just been presented with a gourmet hamper.

Outside, a puff of air whispers through my hair. The clouds are breaking apart. Across the road, Mrs Newman is loading a bin bag with cut grass and the breeze is full of its sweet summer scent.

Jasmine needs a little coaxing to get on the bike that Mum’s lent her. At first she just shrieks and wobbles a few metres down the street, before planting her feet back on the ground, crossing her arms and declaring, ‘I can’t do it! I just can’t do it!’

I stand beside her, pat the handlebars and try to smile encouragingly.

‘It’s no use, Megan. I have no sense of balance. I’m rubbish at it!’

I shake my head and push the handlebar forward. Jasmine chews her lower lip, her forehead furrowed as she concentrates. Her feet find the pedals and she starts to cycle unsteadily on her own. ‘I’m going to fall off. I just know it! Stay next to me, won’t you?’