Looking for a Hero (11 page)

Later that night, I sent a text to the girls.
M in luv.

Dad glanced at me in the car mirror. ‘“Time is too slow for those who wait, too swift for those who fear, too long for those who grieve, too short for those who rejoice, but for those who love, time is eternity”,’ he said as he drove us back through the streets of London. ‘One of my favourite quotes by Henry Van Dyke.’

Mum turned around from the front seat of the car and gave my knee a squeeze.‘I have a quote about time too. It passes. And you’ll be seeing him again before you know it.’

I was slumped in the back. Her words were no consolation. Nobody could
possibly
know how I felt about having to leave Bruno and not knowing when I’d see him again. I felt sore inside and out – a bit of lipsalve might have soothed the snog rash I had on my chin from our long kissing sessions. He was a great kisser and I had a few more pointers for Mikey when the time came for his snog lesson.

‘I’ll be over in England soon,’ he’d said before we left as he held me to him.‘I have to come on hotel business. Don’t be sad,
bella.
Neither time nor distance will keep us apart.’

But I knew that his visit might be weeks away, months even, and for each minute away from him I would be like a flower without the sun. A plant without water. I would grow thinner and paler and sadder. And droop. Like a droopy thing that’s come over all poetic. Bruno had had a strange effect on me and all the love clichés that anyone had ever written or sung seemed like they now applied to me. We’d only had two days but I felt that it was true love. I had never felt like this about anyone who reciprocated before, and it seemed cruel that the one boy who I was clearly meant to be with lived in another country. We had spent every minute together that we could while in Ravello: after Nonna’s lunch, late into the night (until Dad came to get me and marched me back to the hotel), and the next day up until the flight left. But the time had gone by too fast, and all too soon I was back in grey, cold dark England, alone. Droopy. In pain.

Dylan pinched my arm. ‘So lover boy’s in Italy,’ he said. ‘Get over it.’

I crossed my arms over my chest. ‘Thanks for the sympathy.’

Dylan tapped the side of his nose and grinned. ‘Before we left, he asked me to give you something when we got back to London.’

‘So where is it?’

‘You have to cheer up first,’ said Dylan.

I did a fake smile, grabbed his arm and gave him a Chinese burn.

‘Mu-
um
,’ he whinged.

‘Now you two, don’t start,’ said Mum. ‘Dylan. Hand it over right now. It’s not the time.’

I let go of his arm and he stuck his tongue out at me, but he did as Mum had told him and, scrabbling about in his rucksack, he pulled out a letter. I was going to stuff it in my bag to read in privacy when I got home, but I knew I couldn’t wait. Luckily I had a tiny torch on the keyring that Lewis had given me last Christmas so I got that out, clicked it on and could just about make out what was there. It was a poem underneath which he had written a note. His handwriting was beautiful.

“When love beckons to you, follow him,

Though his ways are hard and steep.

And when his wings enfold you, yield to him,

Though the sword hidden among his pinions may wound you.

And when he speaks to you, believe in him,

Though his voice may shatter your dreams as the north wind lays waste the garden.”

India Jane, you have beckoned me and having to part from you is the hidden sword that I must endure. My only comfort is that I know that love has spoken to me. I believe in him and that we will be together again.

Yours, Bruno XX

PS: The poem is a verse from a book called
The Prophet
written by Kahlil Gibran.

My eyes filled with tears. I didn’t quite get what he was trying to say but it was lovely all the same. It was the most romantic thing that anyone had ever done for me. I held the paper to my heart and then to my nose and, as I had hoped, I caught a faint whiff of his scent on the paper. It smelled of citrus and wood and Italy. I stared out into the dark night and felt alone and yet at the same time at one with the thousands of lovers all over the world who were parted.

As soon as I got home, I sent my photos from Ravello over to Erin in Ireland and then I called her. I was so excited and sad and happy all at the same time that I needed to share it with her. It was only when I’d blabbed on about everything that had happened without drawing breath that I realised that Erin sounded subdued.

‘Hey, are you OK?’ I asked.

‘Yeah. Least . . . yeah I am . . . Oh India, I don’t know what to do. I’m glad you’ve had a fab weekend, I really am and I don’t want to bring you down but . . .’ She burst into tears.

‘Hey,
hey,
Erin, what is it? Is it Scott again? Oh God, I am so sorry. I was all me me me when you’re upset. What’s happened?’

Erin sobbed a little longer and I didn’t say much until the sobs subsided. Then she said, ‘I’m
. . . sob . . .
sorry . . . I . . . didn’t want to ruin your weekend . . .’

‘Erin, you are my best mate in the world and nothing could ruin my weekend. Now, tell me what’s happened.’

‘It is Scott again. We were at a party on Saturday and he got completely out of it again. I found him curled up in a ball outside the back door. It was freezing out there and it took me ages to bring him round. I struggled to drag him inside. You know I’ve seen him drink and smoke before, but it’s like he’s going for oblivion. I just don’t get it. He can’t enjoy himself because he spends most of the nights out of it at parties these days, dead to the world. I tried to talk to him when he came round a bit and it couldn’t have gone worse. He got so angry with me, called me awful names like he hated me, and then he stormed off with a spliff and a bottle of vodka. A full bottle. And that would be on top of what he’d already had. I am so worried that something awful is going to happen to him.’

‘You
have
to tell someone, Erin. You can’t deal with this on your own.’

‘But who? I’m telling you. And I told you, it’s not just the drink, it’s what he’s smoking too.’

‘What about telling his mum?’

‘No way. His mum is scary. Remember, she’s a school governor? I can’t imagine what she’d do.’

‘Oh God, yeah, I remember her. Tall and skinny, yeah? Can’t he talk to his dad? I know they’re divorced but he’s still sees Scott, doesn’t he?’

‘Not much. He moved to Australia not long after you moved to London.’

‘Bummer. I didn’t know that. Is there anybody at school?’

‘He’d never forgive me. Oh God. I’m so sorry to lay all this on you when you’ve just got back but it’s doing my head in.’

‘Hey. It’s me here. Mates, yeah? Listen. Let me think about it. What did your mates over there say after the party?’

‘Stay away from him, stay out of it, but he is ... or rather
was,
a mate too. I can’t stand by and let him go under. Like remember when my mum was ill?’

‘Yeah.’

‘Well he was there for me as well as you. You both got me through it. I know he’s got a good heart because I’ve seen it.’

‘Let me talk to the girls over here,’ I said. ‘We’ll think of something. Listen, get a good night’s sleep. We’ll sort it.’

‘Thanks, India. And thanks for being my friend. And . . . Bruno looks divine. I’m really happy for you. Honest I am.’

‘Me too,’ I said. After we’d hung up, I looked at my photos of Bruno again.
Were you for real?
I wondered, going through the different shots. After listening to Erin talk, the weekend in Italy seemed like a lovely dream that I’d had and was already slipping away as reality took over. I read the poem that he’d sent again.
I’m not going to let this fade,
I thought as I tucked it into my pillow then got ready for school the next day.

‘I’d try and talk to him when he was sober,’ said Zahrah after I’d told them all about Erin’s dilemma when we had our Monday morning catch-up at school. ‘Absolutely no point in trying to argue with someone when they’re out of their head. I remember once trying to talk to my second cousin at a wedding when he was drunk and he told me to get lost, get a life and some other very rude things, then he threw up all over my jacket. He was really apologetic the next day, but I don’t think he remembered half of what he’d said or done. I hate boys when they’re drunk out of their minds.’

‘And girls,’ said Brook. ‘Remember that party we went to last Christmas and there were all those Sixth-Formers knocking back the Bacardi breezers like they were lemonade. It was sick city by one o’clock. The bathroom stee-ank.’

‘And the kitchen. One of them threw up in the sink,’ said Leela.

‘Ergh! Gross,’ said Brook.

‘My mum says lesson numero uno when it comes to alcohol is don’t mix your drinks,’ I said. ‘That way, you don’t get sick.’

‘Unless you drink too much,’ said Brook.

‘I’d get him a brochure from somewhere like Alcoholics Anonymous and send it to him anonymously,’ said Leela. ‘Sounds like he needs help and, if it comes from an outside place like AA, it may be easier for him to take than it coming from an old mate or from someone close. Boys are very proud and don’t like being told what to do. Ranjiv would never take my advice about anything, not even about how he wears his hair.’

‘I don’t think Erin thinks that Scott’s an alcoholic,’ I said, ‘least not yet. Just he drinks to excess and, when he smokes skunk, he turns nasty.’

‘Hey. Remember that counsellor guy who came in to talk to us in PSHE last year about drink and drugs?’ said Brook. ‘He was brill. There’s bound to be someone over there who does that sort of thing. I’d tell Erin to find someone like that and go to have a chat with him.’

‘Plus, he ought to get real. He could really cop it if anyone finds him with drugs,’ said Zahrah.

‘I know but, to tell the truth, yes I care what happens to Scott but I’m more worried about Erin. She’s really down about this. She’s known him for years.’

Zahrah sucked in air, making her disapproving sound. ‘She must tell him how it is,’ she said. ‘Not try and be sweet, like, Poor Scott, are you OK? You poor baby. Are you having a hard time? That’s like giving him permission to continue. No. She must say, Scott, you got a problem and you’re going to lose me, your friends and your chance of getting anywhere at school if you continue. Give it to him strong.’

‘Probably easier said than done,’ said Brook.

‘It’s the truth,’ said Zahrah, ‘and sometimes you have to be cruel to be kind.’

It had made me feel better talking to my mates about it all and I thought that each of them had given some good advice. ‘I’ll pass it all on,’ I said. ‘They both need help, her and Scott.’

‘You tell her from me that she needs to be firm,’ said Zahrah. ‘My uncle used to drink and my aunt used to look after him like he was her baby and she was his mum. She’d clean him up, tell everybody that he wasn’t really like the person he was when he was drunk. She was so sweet but like a doormat, you know.’

‘What happened to them?’ I asked.

‘He cleaned up his act, gave up the drink, left my aunt and moved in with a woman who took no nonsense. I got the feeling that his being drunk gave my aunt a reason to live. She felt needed and, as long as he was messing up, she had him to look after and she didn’t have to look at what was wrong with her own life.’

Wow,
I thought.
Zahrah is so deep. She seems to have lived through a lot with her extended family.

‘Anyway, enough about me. What about you guys – what did you get up to while I was away?’ I asked. ‘Leela, didn’t you have a second date with one of the boys from Portobello Road?’

Leela nodded then pulled an unhappy face. ‘We had a great time on the first date. He was cute and fun. We really got along and then, on the second date, we went to the movies and he started up with the funny business which isn’t so funny when you don’t want it. His hand started creeping up my shirt. I slapped him off and he’d be OK for a while, then ten minutes later he’d start again, creeping up my thigh.’

‘What did you do?’ asked Brook.