Casting Shadows (8 page)

‘That’s right,’ Dad said, taking the turn signposted for Norton.

‘I met him for about five minutes,’ I explained to Flynn. ‘He was nice, though maybe a bit odd. His mum died last year, he told me, and his dad isn’t handling it all that
well and he’s my age, starting at the sixth form college in September like we are.’

Flynn raised his eyebrows. ‘You found out a lot in just five minutes,’ he said. His voice was carefully light, but I could hear the slight edge to it.

‘Like I said, Leo’s kind of odd. Anyway, don’t worry, he’s not my type.’

Flynn poked me in the arm. ‘Better not be,’ he said with a grin.

Ros and Gemma were waiting outside when we arrived at the commune. We said hello then rushed upstairs to dump our bags. The storeroom looked far bigger than usual. Dad had
cleared out the camp bed and all the planks of wood and cardboard boxes and moved in a small double bed, a wooden chest of drawers with paint peeling from its sides and a hanging rail that ran
along the small wall to the door. A new daisy-chain print curtain fluttered at the window. It reminded me of one I’d had when I was little.

‘Is it okay?’ Dad asked anxiously. ‘I know it needs a lick of paint, but—’

‘It’s perfect, Dad,’ I breathed.

‘It’s awesome,’ Flynn added.

‘You do understand you’ll just be using the room to store your clothes, don’t you, Flynn?’ Dad gave him a stern look.

A shadow passed over Flynn’s face. I took his hand quickly, then turned to Dad and smiled. ‘Course he does.’

‘Okay,’ Dad said. ‘Well, dinner in ten. See you downstairs in a minute.’ He left the rooms.

Flynn and I looked at each other.

‘I’m not staying outside all night on the sofa, whatever he says,’ Flynn said.

‘I know.’ I grinned. ‘Just make sure Dad doesn’t see you sneaking about.’

Flynn shrugged.

‘Hey,’ I said, taking his hand. ‘As far as I’m concerned, this is
our room.’

The shadow lifted from Flynn’s face. He tugged me towards the bed and we lay down. I breathed in the scent from the white duvet cover: fresh and clean and comforting.

Flynn put his arms round me. ‘River?’ he whispered. ‘Welcome home.’

We spent the whole of the next day working hard on the bedroom. Flynn and Dad sanded the floor first thing, while I took the chest of drawers outside and gave it a lick of
fresh blue paint. Feeling suddenly artistic, I dabbed a row of white daisies down the sides, then left the whole thing to dry.

Once the floor was sanded, Flynn and I covered the walls with white emulsion, then Dad came back in to help us varnish the floorboards. It wasn’t a massive room but by the time we stopped
at nine that evening, the three of us had been working flat out for nearly twelve hours and were utterly exhausted. Flynn insisted on going back up after dinner – once the floor varnish had
dried – and putting eggshell paint on the windowsill and frame.

‘He works hard, I’ll give him that,’ Dad said as we sipped at a cup of tea outside, waiting for Flynn to finish.

That night I slept on the bed in the middle of the room with the windows wide open against the smell of the paint. Flynn, as agreed, started out on the living room sofa but snuck into my bed
once Dad and Gemma had closed their door. He was still there, his hair half over his face, when I woke up. I gazed down at him. This didn’t feel real. I couldn’t believe we were here
together – that this was my new home. After a few minutes, I woke Flynn so that he could go back to the sofa before Dad got up. He grumbled a bit but went readily enough. Neither of us wanted
a big row at this point, though I could see the situation as it was couldn’t last forever.

Flynn and I did our work the following day, then Flynn left to go back to North London and his various jobs. I spent the rest of the week doing my chores and working on our room. I missed Flynn,
of course – and it was weird not being able just to pop out and see Emmi and Grace, like I’d used to, but I didn’t miss living with Mum or Stone and, anyway, I had the thought of
next weekend and Flynn’s return to keep me going.

As soon as he arrived the following Friday evening, I took his hand.

‘Come up and see what I’ve done,’ I said.

‘Dinner in an hour,’ Gemma smiled, as we rushed through the kitchen.

I’d worked hard on our room since he’d been gone and was proud of the result. The floor gleamed and the walls sparkled and all the little ornaments and photos I’d set out made
the place seem really cosy.

Flynn wandered from the bed to the chest of drawers, lingering over the array of bottles and bowls that sat on its surface.

‘What do you think?’ I asked. ‘Does it feel like home?’

He turned to me and nodded. ‘It’s brilliant, River.’ He held up a chain from one of the bowls. It was broken at the catch, but the tiny blue ‘R’ still dangled from
one end.

‘I’ve never seen you wearing this,’ he said.

I stared at the necklace. ‘Grace gave it to me,’ I said. ‘The first birthday I had after starting at Langton and meeting her and Emmi. The catch broke ages ago. I forgot I had
it until I was going through my stuff from Mum’s.’

I held up my wrist, from which the silver heart Flynn had given me dangled on its slim bracelet. ‘To be honest, I forgot I had any other jewellery apart from this.’

Flynn smiled. ‘I’ll mend the necklace for you, if you like?’

‘Thanks.’ I looked around the room again. It felt so grown-up, so romantic to have a place of our own. ‘So you really like what I’ve done in here?’

‘It’s amazing, Riv,’ Flynn said, pocketing the broken chain. ‘Home.’

Leo and his dad were at our evening meal that night. Flynn hadn’t really spoken to Leo last weekend but this time he took the trouble to chat, asking him if he was looking forward to
starting at Norton Napier in September, and whether or not he played football. Leo didn’t play. In fact, he seemed very subdued throughout the meal and answered Flynn mostly in
monosyllables.

‘Leo’s really weird, isn’t he?’ Flynn said later, when we were up in our room. ‘He didn’t seem to want to speak to me.’

I sighed, remembering how quickly Leo had spilled all that stuff to me, about his mum dying and his dad freaking out.

‘Maybe you frightened him,’ I suggested with a smile.

‘Maybe he’s gay and finds me so devastatingly attractive that he doesn’t know
what
to say to me,’ Flynn said with a grin.

I rolled my eyes at him but the truth was that this possibility had occurred to me too. It might explain why Leo had been so awkward around Flynn.

I went back to London that week, to see Mum. Not that she and I really talked anymore. She’d already let Stone take my bedroom – it was unrecognisable, the walls
covered with posters of indie bands and girls in bikinis. I spent my second evening out with Emmi and Grace. Emmi was full of questions about life on the commune.

‘How do you cope, River?’ she asked, wide-eyed. ‘All that mud and the wild animals and the cold water.’

I rolled my eyes. ‘There isn’t any mud in the middle of summer and, for your information, hens aren’t wild animals and the water is perfectly hot – at least it is in the
mornings and evenings.’

Emmi was going to France for a month – she was clearly totally over Alex already and massively excited about all the gorgeous French boys she was hoping to meet.

‘But I’ll come and visit when I’m back, River,’ she grinned. ‘Check out the commune. Plus your Leo sounds sweet.’ She winked at Grace, who blushed.

‘He’s not “my Leo”.’ I rolled my eyes. ‘And I’m not letting you anywhere near him.’

The thought of predatory Emmi trying to get her claws into poor, anxious, possibly gay Leo was more than I could stand.

Emmi raised her eyebrows. ‘You sound possessive, River.’

‘No, I’m not,’ I protested. ‘It is possible to get on with a boy without wanting to do it with them, you know.’

Emmi laughed.

‘James and I are definitely going to come for a visit before the holidays finish,’ Grace said. ‘My dad’s got a tent we could use. It’ll be so cool sleeping out of
doors.’

‘Awesome,’ I said, though I didn’t really see the attraction of spending the night outdoors myself, not when there was a nice soft mattress in our room.

Our room.

Emmi narrowed her eyes as if she’d seen my thoughts. ‘I’m sure it feels great now but once you’re together full time, you won’t ever be able to get away.
There’ll be nowhere to hide out when you’ve got a zit or had an argument or when your period’s making you feel like rubbish.’

‘Flynn doesn’t care about those things,’ I said, defiantly. But inside I couldn’t help but feel a bit anxious. Emmi had a point, after all. What was it going to be like
once Flynn was permanently living on the commune?

As it turned out, it was bliss.

Mostly.

Certainly, over the summer it was perfect. Once Flynn arrived for the weekend, we spent all our time together. At first Dad insisted he waited until Friday evening before arriving and left
before dinner on Sunday night but pretty soon Flynn was coming up on Friday mornings and, after three or four weeks, he was arriving on Thursday afternoons and not leaving again until Monday
lunchtime.

We settled easily into a routine: sleeping late, then grabbing some toast for breakfast before starting our chores. Flynn always snuck into my room once Dad and Gemma had gone to bed. They must
have known – as they had to pass the sofa on the way to our shared bathroom – but neither of them ever said anything and Flynn was always back on the sofa before morning.

On Fridays and Saturdays we had to sweep and clean the downstairs rooms and communal toilets then we went outside, where our jobs varied each week, though often involved the vegetable patch and
the hens. On Sundays we usually joined everyone else tending to the sheep or working in the apple orchard – the organic apples that we would harvest in September were one of the
commune’s main sources of income. On Sunday nights Flynn and I always helped whoever was in charge of that evening’s meal. This meant peeling potatoes if it was the nerdy IT guy,
experimenting with spices if it was Gemma or John and giggling over bizarre recipes if Ros was in charge.

We only had to work two or three hours each day and, after our chores were done, we were free. The first half of August was blisteringly hot and sometimes we just sat outside in the long grass
near the hen house, reading in the shade all afternoon. I pored over novels – romantic ones, mostly. Nothing heavy. Flynn studied what he needed to for his A levels. Moving to the sixth form
college meant he had to change exam syllabuses and therefore was behind on some of his reading, but Flynn was unfazed about catching up. I’d always known he worked hard but, seeing him that
summer, I realised I’d never met anyone so disciplined.

Flynn was determined to get into law school and had already looked into the best courses around the country. Whenever he talked about it my stomach tightened into a knot. I couldn’t bear
the thought of him going away – even though it would be over a year from now – and leaving me behind.

Some days we went out, into the countryside near the commune. We’d wander around woods and fields, hand in hand, talking about stories and music that we liked. We often strolled to the
stream that ran through the woods to paddle in the sparkling, shallow water. It was always cold, yet blissful on our hot, tired feet. We’d make out under the trees, then walk some more,
finally stopping when we got hungry to eat the snacks and sandwiches we’d brought from the commune.

James and Grace visited a couple of times, camping out in their tent as promised. We hardly saw anyone else. We hardly talked to anyone else. Both of us grew tanned and relaxed, while Flynn was
happier than I’d ever seen him. He never shirked his chores or complained about having to do them. He ran every day, usually in the early evening when the sun was past its strongest. And I
knew he worked out and shadow-boxed too, though he never let me watch.

He said that he often missed his mum – he emailed her regularly and spoke to her on the phone every week – and that he sometimes missed the gym and his mates there, too, but that
being with me more than made up for it.

And me?

I was happier than I’d ever been too. I thought I’d been in love with Flynn before, but this was different. After weeks of spending so much time together, you’d think
we’d get bored of each other but we just seemed to keep falling deeper and deeper in love. At night, when Flynn crept into my bed, he would hold me in his arms and whisper how much he loved
me.

Not everything was perfect. I knew Dad fretted about the amount of time we spent together. I overheard Gemma reassuring him one day that school would start again in a few weeks and that our
lives would open out again.

And then there was Leo. We often saw him in the distance, wandering about on his own. Several times I suggested we include him on our walks, but Flynn always refused.

‘He’s too weird,’ he’d say, wrinkling his nose. Then he’d grin. Anyway, I can’t share you, Riv.’

It was funny, the way he said it. And flattering, too.

But sometimes, just sometimes, I felt a bit suffocated. Flynn was always an intense person – and to be the object of all his intensity was like standing in the glare of the sun. Warm and
beautiful – but sometimes overwhelming.

The weather grew cooler during the last week of August. I got my GCSE results – I’d done well in everything except French and Science, getting mostly As and Bs, with A*s in English
and Drama. Flynn had, predictably, got the highest grades possible in all of his AS levels, despite having had to fight to take them in between all his jobs. Now we had our results, our places at
Norton Napier were finally confirmed and it felt, suddenly, as if the summer was almost over.

It was time for Dad to let Flynn move in. I was certain that he would. After all, Flynn had done everything Dad had asked of him and more, but as we stood together on the last Saturday in
August, waiting to hear what Dad said, I couldn’t help but feel anxious.