Читать книгу The Last Charm - Ella Allbright, Элла Олбрайт - Страница 13

‘How cool is this?’ Eloise spins around on the steep stone-edged steps, sapphire eyes sparkling. ‘An end-of-school party at Durdle Door. Isn’t it brilliant?’ Flinging her arms out with enthusiasm, she starts to overbalance, alarm filling her face.

‘Careful!’ Grabbing her wrist to steady her, I nod my chin towards the beach below us. ‘Come on, we’ll chat down there.’ Behind me Michelle – Shell – giggles and Chloe sighs. I know they’ll both be rolling their eyes, even though we should be used to Eloise’s exuberance by now. Dad calls it her joie de vivre.

‘Do you know what’s even more brilliant?’ Eloise smiles, ignoring my suggestion. ‘That your dad finally got you a puppy. You’re so lucky – I’m majorly jealous!’

I can’t help grinning, excitement fizzing through me. ‘I know,’ I squeak, ‘she’s so adorable. I’ve waited so long.’ I think back to the other morning when Dad called me out to his work van and a tiny tri-coloured beagle exploded out of it. I almost cried with joy as I ran my hands over her wriggling little body and tan, white, and brown silky fur. ‘Well, I did what he asked.’ I nod. ‘I stayed in school and took all my GCSEs. I can’t believe I’ve only had her for three days – it already feels like for ever! It’s a bit of a drag that she’s not allowed out yet though. I can’t wait ’til I can walk her. Are you guys still coming to see her tomorrow?’ I crane my neck round to look over my shoulder at Shell and Chloe.

‘I wouldn’t miss meeting Fleur for the world,’ Shell says, face glowing with colour from our days spent basking in Bournemouth Gardens and on the pier approach.

‘I’ll be there, as long as she doesn’t wee on me.’ Chloe replies, before raising an eyebrow. ‘Fleur. You’re such a Potter geek. Couldn’t you think of anything more imaginative?’

I stick my tongue out at her, used to her gentle sarcasm. ‘Fleur Delacour is cool, and totally owned the Triwizard Tournament. And that French accent! You wish you were that cool.’

Chloe mutters something about Harry Potter being for kids, and I stick my tongue out at her again as if to prove my childishness.

‘Come on, you two,’ Eloise says with a grin, ‘pack it in. We’re here to party.’

Someone obviously agrees with her. ‘Yeah, move it along. I wanna get trashed!’ A voice shouts out above us, and I notice a gaggle of people behind Chloe. We’re holding things up.

‘All right, we’re going,’ Chloe yells over her shoulder, irritated.

We pick our way carefully down the steps cut into the side of the cliff, following each other in single file. Looking up, I take in the amazing view. The rich blue sea, reminding me of Winsor and Newton’s oil colour French Ultramarine, laps against the stony shore. A pale sky hovers above us, stretching into the distance. It would be so pretty to paint. My fingers itch for a graphite pencil and paper to draw an initial sketch.

As soon as we reach the beach, we take our sandals off, Chloe complaining about the millions of tiny stones beneath our feet. ‘These are going to get absolutely everywhere. Why couldn’t we go to Bournemouth beach?’ she grumbles, pushing her newly feathered fringe from her face self-consciously and straightening the empire line of her flowing red dress. ‘It’s sandy there, and right next to town.’

‘Not to mention there’s a pier you can go hide under to snog Simon’s face off,’ Eloise jokes. ‘You’re going to tell him you like him tonight, right? If you don’t, you won’t see him ’til September and he’s bound to have got off with someone else over the summer.’

‘Shut up,’ Chloe hisses, glancing around. ‘One of his friends might be listening.’

‘Well, I hope so. If they’re not here, he’s not likely to turn up either. Now, relax –’ Eloise reaches into her bag, pulling out some cans of beer ‘– and have one of these. It’ll put a smile on your face.’

I reach for a beer as Chloe shakes her head. I don’t really like the taste, but I do like the floaty feeling I get after drinking a few.

Shell touches Chloe on the arm, her hazel eyes kind. ‘Don’t worry, he’ll be here. And we’ll find a way for you to talk to him. I’m sure he likes you.’

‘Thanks,’ Chloe mutters, pushing a lock of straight black hair behind one ear.

When I moved back home at fourteen, Chloe was trying to be a carbon copy of Eloise, with a shoulder-length wavy bob and heavily filled-in eyebrows. But for the last year or so her confidence has improved, and she’s let her hair grow out, no longer plaiting it to make it kink, and wearing less make-up. She’s much prettier this way, and nice with it too – despite the fact she tends to moan a lot. Maybe it’s because neither of us has mums that we’re so dysfunctional.

Michelle is lovely, but in a kinder, more thoughtful way than Chloe. The spots that caused her such misery when we met are long gone, and she’s even taller than Eloise, with endless legs and envy-inspiring boobs. She towers above me, and I sometimes feel like a little girl compared to them all, being the shortest by at least three inches. Eloise regularly says they’d all love to be five foot, slim, and tiny-waisted, but I’m not convinced. It’s no fun not being able to reach the top shelf or being constantly told I look younger than I am. I’m going to have to sort some fake ID out soon. We start Sixth Form in three months’ time and Eloise is already talking about going clubbing. It would be so humiliating if I couldn’t get past the doormen.

‘So, why Durdle Door?’ Chloe persists as I crack open my beer and take a long deep gulp, shuddering at the taste. ‘I mean, it’s miles away. Look how long it took us to get here, and how many types of transport we had to use.’

‘Because of that,’ Eloise answers, pointing at the craggy, beige limestone arch that bends over gracefully into the sea, solid and immovable. ‘Later on –’ she leans in, arching her eyebrows ‘– some kids are jumping off the top. I also heard from Megan Whateley that others are planning to go skinny-dipping. You can’t do either of those things at Bournemouth beach; there’s too much of a risk of the police getting called.’

‘Isn’t jumping a bit dangerous?’ Staring up at the stone archway created by hundreds or potentially thousands of years of erosion, there’s a funny dip in my stomach. I’ve got a bad feeling at the thought of people jumping off it, and as I slide my chunky mobile phone out of my pocket and see the low signal, the feeling gets worse. It’s just past 7pm, so we’ve got hours to go. Eloise’s older brother Max won’t be here to pick us up until midnight.

‘Don’t worry –’ Eloise catches my eye ‘– people do it all the time. Just enjoy,’ she encourages me, smiling. ‘Feel the vibe in the air.’

I must admit it’s a beautiful setting for a party. The endless sea views in the evening sunshine are incredible. I can’t believe I never knew this existed, right on my doorstep. There’s no hint of a breeze and the sea is calm and flat. Lines of brown seaweed form lacy patches along the beach. I can hear birdsong and the waves make only a rhythmic whisper of sound against the shore. Far noisier than the elements are the couple of hundred or so pupils from our school and others from the surrounding areas. I look around, following my friend’s advice and soaking up the atmosphere. Various groups of kids are unfurling blankets, setting up ice boxes and stripping down to swim shorts and bikinis before racing down to the water.

‘Come on, let’s go –’ Eloise jiggles on the spot ‘– I want to find Jonny, and you never know, Chloe, Simon might be with him.’ Turning to glance over her shoulder, she grins as she looks back at us. ‘It’s chaos. I love it!’

She sets off, sure we’ll be following in her footsteps. I’ve always envied her vivacity and confidence. And why wouldn’t she be those things, with her cloud of curly black hair, heart-shaped face, big blue eyes, and curvy figure? Looking down at my skinny knees in denim shorts and my virtually flat chest, I sigh, knowing I’ll have to go in the sea later. I’ll be keeping my T-shirt on when everyone else is using the excuse to strip off. Hollyoaks has a lot to answer for, and just underlines how boring and sensible I am for not sleeping around or crushing on the wrong person.

If I had a mum, maybe I’d talk to her about how inadequate those TV programmes make me feel, and how my figure means I’m practically invisible to boys. Perhaps she’d pour me a cup of tea, pass me a slice of homemade cake, and say it won’t last for ever. Reassure me that one day I’ll blossom, and they’ll notice me, and having a boyfriend isn’t the most important thing in the world anyway – it just feels like it sometimes. She’d hug me tight and stroke my hair and finish off by saying that if I’m happy being single, that’s all right. But I don’t have a mum, and there’s no way I could confide any of this to Dad. We’d both be mortified by that type of conversation.

I twist the silver bracelet around my left wrist, playing with the handful of charms hanging off it. It holds six now: a plain silver heart; a tiny pencil; a silver conch shell with a pink interior; an open book with squiggly lines etched into its pages; a round disc with the sea, a setting sun, some seagulls, and a boat engraved on it with a tiny blue gem stone on its hull; and finally, a minuscule silver dog, which arrived this morning. Despite what Dad and Grandad Ray say about Mum never being in touch with them, she must be. How else would she know to send me the dog charm today?

The only time I’ve ever taken the bracelet off was when I was rushed to A&E a few years ago and one of the nurses insisted I remove it when they were treating my burns. She didn’t want me to lose it in the hustle and bustle of the hospital, she said, while helping me into the open-backed gown. I shudder, not liking to think about that night. There are too many bad memories.

I turn the dog charm between my fingers, a smile touching my lips. The bracelet sometimes looks bare because it has so many empty links, but I have faith Mum will send more charms to fill it up. Most of the time I resent her for leaving and never coming back, for not staying in touch on a regular basis. But at other times I’m just glad she makes the effort with the charms, even if it’s only every few years. It means that every so often, she thinks about me. That she cares, even if her stubbornly continued absence says the complete opposite.

I try and shrug off the thoughts which could lead me into a black cycle of pain and despair. The blare of music is rising, and as we trudge along the beach to find Jonny and his friends, I realise there isn’t one central source of sound. My ears pick out different tunes blaring from a variety of speakers and the contrasting beats and tempos thrum through my body. With them, my spirits rise. We’re free at last. School’s over, my uniform’s in the big black refuse bin. We’re done. And when we go back in September, it’ll be different; we’ll be treated like adults.

As we move from one group of kids to the next I raise my hand and wave at people, smiling and nodding. Tipping my head back to swallow more beer, I gaze up at the peaks and dips of the chalk cliffs towering above us, the tops and sides of them covered with vibrant green grass. The pockmarked cliff face sweeps down to the beach, and in some places, I can make out small caves running along the base. Some kids are already climbing up to explore them. Three points for guessing what the caves will be used for later.

A giggle escapes me. After months of feeling somehow apart from others, with the pressure of revision, exams, and my future on my shoulders – things only I could do something about – I suddenly feel part of something bigger, unified in something amazing with the people around me. There’s a crackle of energy in the air, like electricity. I grin. This is going to be fun. What could possibly go wrong?

***

It’s getting late. The sun’s rays have dimmed, and a couple of campfires have been built with driftwood to provide flickering light. It’s past 10pm, and everyone has gathered into one big mass, a knot of teenagers in a jagged circle. Music’s still playing, voices rising and falling in unpredictable patterns above the melodies. The day’s still muggy but the air isn’t quite as warm on our skin. My bum is going numb from sitting on the shingle, but I’ve had a great time. It has been fun. We’ve eaten, danced, drunk, laughed, and played. We swam, we splashed each other, and Jonny shocked us all by stripping off and jumping into the waves naked in front of everyone – a challenge to Eloise in his eyes. I honestly didn’t know where to look, so instead dove into the salty green-blue of the waves, closing my eyes against the image.

The fabric of my T-shirt drifted against my skin over my swimsuit, and for a moment I pretended I was a mermaid and that if I kept swimming, I’d find a magical world out there under the sea. It was a fanciful thought, and I was embarrassed by it – I’m nearly sixteen, for God’s sake – but as soon as it flowed through my head, a vivid picture formed, and I knew I’d be painting that mermaid someday. For a moment I wondered if I was drunk, but I’d only had one can of beer. I’m glad of it now as I don’t have that floaty, out-of-touch feeling I get after three or four.

Huddling in my beach towel next to Shell, our eyes meet. We share a smile before looking over at Eloise and Jonny kissing, and then at Chloe, who’s curled up shyly within the semi-circle of Simon’s arm. She’s gazing up at him in adoration. I’m both happy for her and sad at the same time, with a hint of jealousy thrown in which I immediately feel bad about.

‘Hey, isn’t that Jake Harding?’ Shell asks suddenly, gazing across the fire at a small group that’s broken off from the rest of us.

Tension runs through my body. ‘What? Where?’ I squint across at them.

‘Yeah, he came with Owen Plaitford.’ Eloise finally detaches her mouth from Jonny’s and looks at me as I twist back to face her. ‘They stayed friends after he left. I spoke to Owen earlier.’

‘What?’ I squeak. She could have said. Then, I scowl. If he’s stayed in touch with Owen, why hasn’t he stayed in touch with me? I thought he liked me, but maybe I was fooling myself and it was just a passing friendship, like the intense ones when you meet people on holiday, sharing secrets with them, and then never seeing them again.

I’ve always wondered what happened to Jake after his dad tore him away that day, feeling guilty for my part in it. Now, every time I see Pandora sitting on my packed bookshelf or catch sight of my book charm, I remember that short skinny boy and I’m caught between a mixture of gratitude and annoyance. If it all meant nothing, why did he give me the charm, especially when he knew how important the bracelet was to me?

‘So, Leila, are you going to make my night, or what?’ A pair of wet shorts appear in front of my face, their owner thrusting his groin towards me.

I rear back. ‘Urgh! Leave it out, Shaun,’ I groan, shaking my head.

He’s Jonny’s friend, and thinks it’s hysterical to pretend he fancies me and try it on. At school, he’ll sneak up behind me and grab me around the waist to pick me up or pluck my bag off my shoulder and make me chase him for it. Once he stuck his face in my neck and pretended to snog me loudly in front of everyone. I laughed and half-heartedly pushed him off, knowing we’re just friends, noticing how he watched for Shell’s reaction from the corner of his eye.

Leaning over, Shaun lifts me off the sand, bringing me in tight for a big hug, soaking my T-shirt and swimsuit all over again.

‘Shaun, you git!’ I yelp. ‘I only just dried off!’

‘Git?’ He mock roars. ‘I’ll teach you, you uppity little cow!’ Bending his knees, he tries to scoop me up over his shoulder, but I leap out of the way squealing.

Just as I open my mouth to laugh, a hand yanks Shaun backwards by the shoulder, sending him flying with the unexpected strength of it. ‘Leave her alone!’ A deep voice yells. I see Shaun’s feet leave the ground and he actually sails through the air like something out of a cartoon, his back arched. There’s a muffled ‘oof’ as he lands on the shingle not far from the fire. The breath whooshes from him and he curls over onto his side.

‘Shaun!’ Shell and I run over as Chloe and Eloise spring to their feet. He’s lying on the ground, red-faced and groaning.

Shell drops to her knees and rolls him over, moving his head onto her lap, her hair streaming down around their faces. ‘Are you okay?’

‘Shit.’ Wheezing, he takes a deep breath. ‘Yeah, think … so …’ he mutters. ‘Just winded. What the fuck happened?’

‘I don’t know. Some guy just went postal.’ Frowning, she glances up at me. I look around, shrugging my shoulders in bewilderment.

Shaun’s breathing is coming a little easier as Shell helps him sit up, dusting him off with a gentle hand. She winces. ‘You’ve got some cuts and grazes on your back from the stones. We should put some antiseptic cream on them. I’ve got some in my bag.’ She gets to her feet, holding out her hand. ‘Come on. Can you walk?’

‘Yeah, I think so.’ As he stands up unsteadily, he puts an arm around her shoulder, leaning in. ‘If I knew all I had to do for your attention was get shoved around at a party, I would’ve done it months ago.’

Shell rolls her eyes. ‘That’s tragic.’ But there’s a little smile on her lips.

It looks like all my friends are coupled off, and the thought stings. But I ignore it, and seeing Shaun’s okay, I spin around. ‘Did anyone see anything?’ Everyone’s standing there watching, hands over their mouths whispering and gossiping. ‘Who did that?’ People shake their heads, watching as Shaun limps off with Shell. ‘Anyone?’

‘It was me.’ A voice with a faint northern twang says from amongst a crowd of heads, before the bodies part and a tall form walks through. ‘Are you okay?’

I can’t see much of his face as the only light is from two nearby fires, but it’s enough to recognise him, even though he’s about a foot taller than the last time we saw each other. I take in the familiar scar, the sharp cheekbones, heavy eyebrows, and thick black hair. ‘Jake.’ I gulp. He looks like a stranger but also familiar at the same time. ‘Why the hell did you do that?’ He’s not a short skinny teenager any more. He’s much taller than I remember and with him in swimming shorts, I can also see a lot of muscles. I force myself to focus on his face and pray my fair skin won’t betray me. ‘What were you thinking?’

‘I thought he was hurting you, Jones. I heard him call you a cow, and he was trying to grab you.’

Something about the way he uses my surname grates on me, just like it did when I was fourteen. ‘He’s my friend. We were messing around. We always do.’ He flinches and opens his mouth, but I get there first. ‘You can’t just shove people around!’ I point my finger at him, uncaring of the crowd watching our little drama. ‘You could have seriously hurt him. What’s wrong with you?’

‘Quite a lot, it seems.’ His lips curl back over his teeth. ‘Including sticking up for spoilt little girls.’ He holds his arms out to his sides, ‘So the next time I see someone who needs help, I won’t bother—’

‘Spoilt?’ I screech, staring at him. ‘Well, I didn’t need help, and I definitely don’t need yours. You have no right to just come charging in.’ My volume climbs, my face getting hotter.

‘Jeez, when did you turn into such a feminist?’

I gape at him, expecting better from him than that, before realising the look in his eyes isn’t anger. It’s pain.

‘After all,’ he continues, ‘you were happy enough to accept my help last time.’

He’s got me, and it puts me on the defensive. ‘W-well, I didn’t ask for it then,’ I shoot back, ‘and I’m not asking for it now.’ I put my hands on my hips. ‘Anyway, since when did you adopt a “violence solves everything” ethos? Don’t be like your dad and go—’

‘What?’ His mouth drops open, wounded, before rallying. ‘I was just trying to protect you. We’re friends.’

That stings. ‘No, Jake. We were friends once. And barely that. Then you left.’

His jaw tenses, a pulse beating. ‘If that’s how you feel, fine.’ Spinning around, he marches off through a gap in the crowd, churning up shingle along the ground as he goes.

Eloise and Chloe appear next to me. ‘Bloody hell, Leila,’ Eloise says, eyes wide. ‘I know you’re loyal to your friends and he hurt Shaun, but you sort of lost it with him.’

Chloe nods in agreement, ‘It’s not like you at all. You okay?’

‘Yeah, of course,’ I say with a nod. As I turn to them, the anger drains away, leaving me shaking. Embarrassment fills me for losing control, especially so publicly. They’ve never seen this side of me. Dad would be so disappointed. We thought I’d left my temper behind when we moved back to the south coast.

I simmer with resentment at Jake for bringing back memories of emotions past. Yet he didn’t deserve what I said, and I really shouldn’t have made that comment about his dad. I cringe. Then I burst into tears.

***

Nearly two hours later I’m propped against Chloe, my head resting on her shoulder as we listen to ‘Don’t Look Back in Anger’ by Oasis. She’s smiling as she watches Simon and Jonny pretend to strum guitars in front of the fire, miming the way Liam Gallagher sings with his mouth practically kissing the microphone.

I’ve calmed down and the atmosphere is muted now, not many of us left at the beauty spot. I hate ugly scenes, and it’s soured the evening. I wanted to go home straight afterwards, but Eloise couldn’t get any signal to call Max, and I could see my friends enjoying themselves, so I wiped the tears away and pretended I was fine. And I am – or at least I will be. I can’t understand why Jake behaved like that, or why my reaction was so strong. I overheard Eloise muttering to Chloe that in a way it was sweet he was trying to protect me, but I disagree. I’m not his to protect. Still, I wonder if he’s okay after our disagreement, and regret causes my stomach to churn.

My attention turns towards the water, and the stone arch of the Door. There’s a dark figure on top of the high rocky outcrop. It disappears and then I hear a splash. Scouring the sea for a swimmer in the fading light, I see nothing. For a moment I turn away as Eloise waves at me, holding out a can of beer, but I shake my head. Michelle glances at me from beside Shaun and mouths okay? so I nod and give her a double thumbs up.

I turn back to the sea, scanning it again for a swimmer, and then the shoreline for someone getting out. Nothing. Maybe I imagined it. But I feel uneasy. I uncurl my legs, pushing myself off the ground and moving away from the fire. It goes unnoticed as someone turns the volume to maximum and everyone stands up to sing together, voices raised as they throw their arms around each other’s waists and shoulders, shouting out about how Sally can wait, and that she knows it’s too late.

Striding with effort over the multi-coloured pebbles to the water’s edge, I can’t get rid of the feeling that someone was— There! Squinting in the half-light, I spot a small dot in the sea at the bottom of the arch, and moments later, a pair of flailing arms. They look like they’re clawing at the sky. Whoever it is, they’re in trouble. Casting a look over my shoulder, I see everyone’s occupied, noisily singing, their heads thrown back. They don’t realise that a drama is unfolding only a dozen feet away, silent and unseen.

‘Hey!’ I shout, turning to the crowd and trying to get someone’s attention. ‘Hey, there’s someone in trouble!’ But they can’t hear. As I hesitate, I notice the arms sink beneath the glassy surface of the sea and realise I haven’t got time. I’ve wasted too much already.

If nothing else, I’m a good swimmer – one of the few skills Mum instilled in me before she disappeared. My instincts take over. Taking deep breaths, I wade into the water, ignoring the slight chill. The sea hasn’t had the whole summer to warm up yet. As soon as it’s deep enough, I dive in, my arms arching over and alternating in firm, precise strokes. Hang on, I think hazily, just wait for me.

It takes for ever but at the same time feels like only an instant, and then my left hand’s connecting with a struggling body, and I’m grabbing an arm and heaving them to the surface, both of us gasping for breath. Their fight for survival is making it hard for me to get a grip.

‘Stop it!’ I order, briny water filling my mouth. Turning my head, I spit it out. Salty water is splashing in my face and stinging my eyes. I can hardly see. I try hooking my right arm around their chest so I can get them to lie on their back and tow them in, but they – he, I realise from the width of his shoulders and shape of his skull – is dipping down below the water again. He can’t kick properly for some reason. There’s a current beneath us trying to pull us out to dangerous depths, but I resist it. Not today, I think fiercely, and not like this.

Yanking him back up to the surface, I calm myself down, inhaling deeply to make sure I have enough air in my lungs to keep us both afloat. ‘Stop moving. Relax!’ I bellow in his ear through a mop of dark hair, trying to get through to him. ‘It’s okay. I’ve got you.’

Thankfully he quietens, and I hook my arm around under his armpit across to his opposite shoulder so he’s floating in front of me, both of us on our backs. I draw him closer, noticing his right leg is dead straight, toes curled over tight. His chest is solid and broad beneath my hand, and I try to ignore the feeling of my boobs squashed against his back, working on keeping our lower bodies apart so our legs don’t tangle. Apart from the play-fighting with Shaun, this is the closest I’ve ever been to a guy. Nearly sweet sixteen and never been kissed, I think regretfully.

Shaking off the thought, I set out for the beach in a slow but steady back-crawl, using my left arm, tilting my head back in the sea, and gazing up at the darkened sky as I swim. My long, pale hair floats to the top of the water, fanning out around our heads. The only sounds audible with my ears beneath the surface are the stones shifting against each other, as if in a sigh. Night’s fallen during the last few minutes, and sparkling stars have appeared in the velvet sky. It looks like there are a thousand at least, twinkling and saying hello. Telling us they’re here and that they see us too.

There’s something magical about the moment despite the circumstances, and I can’t help but take in the view. The starry sky stretches above us, no end in sight. It’s like this boy and I are the only two people in the world. There’s just us, in the water. Everyone else has faded away and been forgotten. But strangely that’s okay. It’s comfortable. Right.

The moment lingers. ‘Beautiful,’ I whisper, tilting my head to see more stars.

‘Yeah’ echoes back, and I know I’ve spoken in his ear again.

‘Jake!’ I recognise his voice, and for a brief pause I stop swimming. Even though I’m in chilly water, the warmth of embarrassment creeps over my skin. I wince. This isn’t how I’d imagined seeing him again, especially after earlier. Talk about awkward.

He doesn’t reply, but I hear him mutter shit under his breath as I resume swimming.

Before I’m ready for it, I feel smooth hard points beneath my legs and realise I’ve swum us all the way to shore with barely any effort. Planting my feet on the bottom, I stand up, helping him wade in. The water comes up to my hips and his thighs. It’s so dark, the night air is like a blanket, and the fire is too far away to let me see his expression.

Bending over at the waist, he coughs a few times and inhales sharply before stumbling to the water’s edge. I follow him, hovering uncertainly and watching as he collapses in a heap, straightening his leg out before grabbing his foot and pulling his toes up toward his body. Muttering some swear words under his breath that would make even Grandad with his Navy background flinch, he massages the arch of his foot with a groan. The longer he works on it, the more it returns to its normal shape. His thick black hair is plastered to his head, and he rakes both hands through it, leaving it stuck up in damp tufts. At last, he looks up at me. One of the clouds covering the moon passes, and it shines down on us, painting his face a ghostly white.

‘Jake,’ I whisper hesitantly. ‘Are you okay?’ Given how I just helped him, he doesn’t look pleased to see me. ‘Are you hurt? What happened? That was scary.’ For both of us, I add silently. Not to mention unsettling. I close my eyes, blushing. I was right up against him, our bodies touching. There’s a weird feeling in my stomach, but I don’t like him in that way.

‘I’m fine,’ he says through gritted teeth, as I open my eyes, ‘stop fussing.’

‘S-sorry,’ I stutter in a high voice, too shocked to say anything else.

Stepping away, I shiver in the night air. My white T-shirt’s soaked and sticking to my body. Pulling it away from my swimsuit helps a little, but not much. I need a towel and some dry clothes. Glancing along the beach, I notice everyone’s still singing, their choral voices soaring. For all intents and purposes, Jake and I might as well be alone together on the beach in the shadow of Durdle Door. It’s weird – only ten minutes have passed since I realised someone was in trouble and dove in after them, but I feel like I’ve aged ten years. Like the girl who came out of the sea is a different one to the girl who went in. Maybe that’s what happens when you save a life – you change your own.

The thought makes me cross. I did a good thing, so why’s Jake being like this? Why’s he acting like I tried to drown him, rather than help him? He could have easily been swept out by the current that tried to steal us away. ‘You know, you could at least say thank you,’ I hurl at him, teeth chattering. ‘Without me, you’d have been in real trouble.’

He pushes himself off the ground, avoiding my eyes. ‘No, I wouldn’t. I didn’t need any help. I’d have been fine as soon as I got rid of the cramp.’ Shrugging his broad shoulders, he bunches up fistfuls of his black swimming shorts, squeezing out the water.

‘That’s rubbish! You were sinking fast, and the current was strong. You would’ve been gone before anyone knew it. And what were you doing jumping off the top of the Door anyway? It’s practically suicide. Have you got a death wish?’

‘No.’ His voice turns cold, the new depth in it making him sound like a man. Then I realise he must be almost eighteen so he is practically a man. ‘I just thought it would be a cool thing to do. Owen dared me. You sound like my mum,’ he drawls, in a bored tone, ‘and I don’t need another one of those. Thanks, though.’

I glare at him. ‘I thought I was too hard on you earlier – I felt bad about it actually – but you are so rude, and an idiot too if you think a dare is worth risking your life for!’

‘If you say so.’

The final cloud drifts away and the moon shines its cool light more brightly on his face. The planes are smooth and hard, but there’s still some softness around his chin. The scar leading down into his top lip seems fainter than it used to. His eyes glint as they look me up and down.

Hugging my arms around my middle, the breeze drifting across the beach makes me shiver again. Suddenly I’m cold and tired, longing for a hot shower and my bed. There’s salt drying in crusty zig-zags along my skin and my hair is dripping cool water down my spine. Shaking my head, I stare at him. I want to go home. I’m done with this. ‘Whatever,’ I reply, swinging around to leave. ‘If you’re not even going to say thank you … or apologise for earlier … See you around.’

‘Me, apologise?’ His voice makes me jolt. ‘You were the one who said we’re not friends.’

‘We’re not,’ I flash. He didn’t stay in touch, so how can we be friends? Well, I’m not spelling it out for him.

‘So why did you help then? And why bawl me out for saving you earlier, but think that it’s okay to do the same for me? It’s a bit hypocritical, isn’t it?’

Turning, I gaze at him, pulling the hem of my T-shirt down. ‘I didn’t know who I was saving at the time, did I?’ As soon as it leaves my mouth, I realise how awful it sounds. That if I’d known it was him, I’d have left him there to drown. I rush on. ‘And maybe it does make me a hypocrite, but all I knew was someone was in trouble, and no one else had realised. I didn’t have a choice; I had to help.’

‘There’s always a choice.’

‘Not for me. What was I supposed to do, let someone drown?’ He opens his mouth, but I keep talking. ‘Anyway, now I know it’s you, I’m glad. Now you can consider us even.’ They feel right, those last few sentences on my lips, the shape and sound of them. I’ve just very probably saved his life, and when he took the blame for me that day at school, he unknowingly saved mine. Our school, my friends, the stability I’ve had with Dad and Grandad over the last few years, saved me. No more running away, no more losing control of my rage and frustration, no more silly decisions with disastrous consequences. I feel the skin on my lower back itch despite my drenched T-shirt, and wish for the hundredth time I’d been left unmarked by that night. Not just physically, but mentally too.

‘We’re not even. We don’t need to be. You don’t owe me anything,’ Jake snaps. ‘I used you.’

‘Used me how?’ The moon is swallowed up by another cloud and his face flickers back into darkness. ‘Jake?’ I demand, stepping forward.

‘I wanted out of there,’ he says. ‘Getting expelled from school was how I was going to do it. Mum was in on it. Luckily for me, it worked.’

‘So, you took the blame as part of some grand plan? I could have been anyone?’

‘Yes.’

He sounds so cocky, and I don’t like it. ‘I don’t believe you.’ I yank my T-shirt off over my head, hoping the breeze will take the dampness from my bare skin and help dry out my swimsuit. ‘I just don’t. That day at school, you made that weird comment about how you met me before you met me. It meant something; it was personal. And later, you brought Pandora back with the book charm.’

‘You remember what I said?’

‘Of course. So, what did you mean?’

He sighs. ‘Is there any chance you’re going to let this drop?’

‘No. Plus, if you don’t explain it to me, I’m going to tell everyone I had to fish you out of the sea. That wouldn’t do your bad-boy image much good, would it?’

‘That’s blackmail.’ The northern edge in his voice sharpens.

I shrug, waiting.

At my silence, he huffs. ‘Fine. Yes. The day we first met—’

‘The day you moved into my old house,’ I murmur, still able to recall how furious I was at Mum for leaving, holding her responsible for us selling up and leaving town, and all my friends, behind. ‘What about it?’ I prompt, embarrassed to remember how resentful I was of the new family moving into my house. ‘Come on.’

‘I was out front, and you were in your dad’s van. We spoke—’

‘Yes. I was worried about you.’

‘You were?’ An odd note creeps into his voice.

‘Yeah,’ I admit. ‘I watched you and your dad. I didn’t like what I saw. I thought he was scary.’ It makes me feel bad all over again about the comment I made earlier when we argued. Sure, Jake grabbed Shaun, but he didn’t beat him to a pulp or enjoy the scene the way I suspect his dad would have.

‘I know.’ He sighs, clearing his throat. ‘Well, before that conversation, I’d been in the house for the first time. Dad had put me in your old bedroom; he thought that was funny because it was pink. But when I went upstairs and saw the paintings of all the doors on the walls, and how many worlds you’d imagined stepping into … it made me feel hope. Not something I was used to. I also discovered what was under the bed. I saw what you’d created there. It was like a magical place I could e-escape to …’ He stumbles over his words. ‘I felt like I was walking in your footsteps. It made me feel like I already knew you.’

There’s so much pain in his voice when he talks about escaping that I daren’t ask any more questions. But, God … Squirming, I recall the picture he’s talking about, the one under the bed. I think of the fairy who was based on me, with silvery hair and starry eyes, holding a magic wand and a paint brush. That piece is so deeply personal and childish. The thought of another person seeing it makes me feel a bit sick. It feels intrusive, like he’s seen parts of me he shouldn’t have. On the other hand, there’s something about his confession that touches me. He used my creation to escape a world he didn’t want to live in, just like I did after Mum left. Perhaps we’re not so different, and maybe he’s not as hard-faced and cocky as he sometimes appears.

‘So, when I had the opportunity to help you in return,’ he continues, ‘at the same time as helping myself, I took it. Happy now?’ Before I can answer, the moon reappears, lighting the beach around us. I glance around. While we’ve been talking, the party has broken up, the music’s been turned off and a few kids are drifting towards us, heading for the steps carved into the grassy cliff. As he notices them, Jake shifts away, shoving his hands in his pockets. ‘Anyway, enough of all that,’ he says, breaking the mood. ‘You’ve had your explanation.’

I stare at him, confused at his abrupt turnaround, my mouth open as I search for the right thing to say. ‘Well, thanks for telling me,’ I reply, uncomfortable. The moonlight catches my bracelet with a glimmer as I move my arm, and I spin it around my left wrist, rubbing the dog charm between two fingers. To fill the silence, I start babbling. ‘My dad finally bought me a puppy as a reward for taking all my exams,’ I blurt. ‘I’ve been on at him to get me a dog for years. As an only child I always wanted company growing up. Anyway, I got her the other day and her name’s Fleur. She’s really cute. She keeps following me around and wanting to play.’

‘That’s nice.’ Tilting his head to the side, he asks, ‘After the character in Harry Potter?’

‘Yes,’ I say, surprised by his observation. ‘The charm arrived this morning. Grandad found it in an envelope that came through the door.’ I press on, wanting another answer from him. ‘You know him, right? The day you left he wanted to go after you, to stop your dad taking you.’

‘He didn’t need to; he knows that.’

‘What?’ I glance at him sharply. ‘How does he know? Have you been in touch with him?’ Hot jealousy shoots though me. I’m not sure whether that’s about Grandad, or Jake.

‘You don’t need to worry about that. Jones, look, there’s something I need to—’

‘Jake!’ A voice shouts above us on the stairs, and I recognise Owen’s lanky frame and shaggy hair. ‘We need to go,’ he hollers. ‘We’ve got a problem. Your dad—’

‘Coming,’ Jake calls back, interrupting his friend. He starts backing away and I go to follow, but he holds his hands up, palms out, to stop me. ‘Don’t. If it’s about my dad, I’ve gotta go now.’

‘Jake, wait—’

‘I can’t.’

‘But what did you mean about my grandad?’

‘It doesn’t matter.’ He darts off to the side, grabbing a black rucksack from a pile of bags. Slinging it on his shoulder, he lopes up the steps. ‘Just for the record,’ he says in a rush, ‘I would have been okay without you. There was no need to help me. I’m a strong swimmer and I know my way around the sea. Really.’ As he starts climbing, he gives me a half-salute, touching a hand to his forehead. ‘But thank you. Not bad for a feminist,’ he smirks. ‘And by the way, Jones, I’m glad you grew your hair.’ He points at the sodden ropes hanging almost to my waist. Before I can reply, he nods to the screwed-up T-shirt I’m clutching in front of me. ‘And nice top, but I preferred it on. It definitely looked better on.’ Spinning, he leaps up the steps, taking two at a time without once glancing back.

‘What?’ I stare after him, embarrassment colouring my face. Why did I ever think we were friends?