Page 59 of Boy Friends
Maybe Jacob can tell, because he shrugs and says, ‘He’sright, she was having an affair. But he wasn’t faithful either. They’re both hypocrites.’
‘They shouldn’t be dragging you into this. You’re their child, not a toy.’ His mother took him away from his friends and family to hurt her husband, but he’s the one paying the price. At least Dad did it to protect me, not because he wanted revenge.
‘Thanks. It’s good to be reminded.’ A strand of hair falls into his eyes. When he blows it away, I think of the way Simo calls him Curtains. I don’t know what it is between them, but I need to find a way to make them get along.
Dad appears behind Jacob and claps his hands. ‘Boys, it’s almost time to open the cafe and, frankly, the place is a mess.’
‘Oh, sorry. We’ll clear up and then I’ll get out of your way,’ Jacob says, flustered.
‘Ignore him – he’s just mad that he didn’t get to lick the bowls clean,’ I say. ‘And you should stay. We don’t even need the kitchen. People bring their own drinks and food to share. Another tradition, a little Christmas party of sorts. Stay, please?’
Jacob looks unsure, but when Dad stuffs a cookie in his own mouth, rolls his eyes in pleasure and says, ‘Yesh, pleash shtay,’ he nods, a smile spreading across his face.
CHAPTER 22 – SIMO
‘What do you think?’ I ask, looking at the heart painted on the planks of the open-air stage. With the first day of school behind us, I thought it wise to see for myself what everyone was whispering about in class.
Luca’s head is tilted, a vein tracing his neck like a river of quartz in pale rock. My gaze keeps snagging on it, that exposed piece of skin with a single blue line disappearing beneath the collar of his coat, so much prettier than the crass pink shape on the peeling floorboards.
Like me, Luca is taking in the newest work of the anonymous shipper. I’ve seen this motif before, the heart and our initials, but never spread over several square feet.
‘They’re getting less subtle,’ Luca replies. ‘And it’s wonky.’
‘Yeah, they’re no Banksy.’ I’m surprised by the calm in my voice. The first time I saw our names on the noticeboard, I’d have been happy to dig myself a grave and disappear into it. It was scary because it was true. But even if the shock has worn off, I still hate the thought of proving them right. My feelings aren’t public property.
‘This has got way out of hand,’ Luca mumbles.
‘It has,’ I agree, caught between relief and irritation,between the urge to run from this place and the desire to pull Luca back into my arms, with his palms pressing into the small of my back. At least Luca and I can openly address the hearts now, even if my pulse spikes every time – and not in a nice way, like it did at the Brandenburgs’ party. I swear there was something in the air that night.
This, however, couldn’t be further from romance. Our initials scratched into wood with a key or a knife or sprayed across floorboards that people trample over without thinking.
‘They’re all different styles,’ Luca notes. ‘Posters, carvings, graffiti. Makes me think that it’s not just one person.’
The truth sinks in – a cold drop on the back of my neck that makes my whole body feel clammy.
‘We have a fan club,’ I conclude, repulsion tainting my voice. Before the break, things were changing for the better. I was more relaxed around Luca, it felt as if he was more open with me. We’ve reached a new level of closeness, and I’d hate for this to come between us again.
With a look on his face like he’s seen enough, Luca steps out into the rain. I expect him to head to the cafe, but to my surprise, he turns in the direction of my house.
‘Everything OK at home?’ I ask, hurrying after him.
Though I’ve tried my hardest to forget it, the conversation I overheard between Maz and Graham still haunts me. I wonder if Maz told Luca about any of it. And I wonder what it is exactly that the private investigator ‘dug up’. They don’t need another family secret to rock their relationship. I can’t help feeling guilty about not telling Luca what I heard. But if he doesn’t know about his grandparents tryingto bribe Polly into having an abortion, then it’s not up to me to reveal that. It would only cause him pain. If Maz decided to keep it quiet, so will I.
‘Everything’s OK,’ Luca says, pulling me back into the moment. ‘But there’s something I want to give you.’
I don’t know what that’s supposed to mean, and by the time we take the steps up to my bedroom, anxiousness has spread through my body, making my fingers twitch. What is it that he can only give me in my room, away from anyone else?
Luca sits down at the end of my bed and rummages around in his backpack. His hair is damp, water trickles down his temples and stains his jumper. I grab a fresh towel from my wardrobe, but instead of going over and rubbing him dry, I stand there, wondering if that’d be weird.
‘Stop hovering,’ he says, and throws me a quizzical look.
‘Stop dripping on my bed,’ I say, and throw the towel at him.
I move from the edge of the room and sit swivelling on my desk chair.
‘Here, your Christmas gift,’ he says and holds out a rectangular object in glossy paper. I stop swivelling. While he dries his hair, I carefully unwrap it. The sound of the paper mixes with the rustling of the towel, and though we’ve spent so much time in this room together, it now feels too small and quiet. I’m aware of his body and my body and our breaths steaming up the window.
‘Did you make this?’ I ask, uncovering a picture frame with subtle wood carvings.
