No Going Back (11 page)

“Yes, okay.”

Aargh! Why did I do that? Sound so offhand sometimes, as if I couldn't care less. “Sorry, I meant yes. That would be good.”

It's typical, isn't it? You don't do much for days and then suddenly you get two invitations at once.
Liberty texted me that evening, asking if I wanted to go to the cinema on Friday afternoon, because her mum could give us a lift into town. I had to say no and then she wanted to know why. She sounded really put out. I didn't want to lie but I didn't want to upset her by saying that I was meeting up with Sam so I made up some lame excuse about one of my friends from London who might be stopping off on her way for a weekend break with her parents. Then to add to my feelings of guilt there was Dad to deal with. He'd obviously been eavesdropping when I took the water out to Sam and had been in a bit of a mood for the rest of the day.

“I really don't like the way this is going, Laura,” he said, pacing up and down in my room as I took my earrings out.

“He's a friend, Dad,” I said, dropping the little silver flowers into the base of my jewellery tree. “That's all. And until I start school I need all the friends I can get.”

But he didn't seem reassured and I had this horrible feeling that he was going to insist on coming with me again.

I had my first real row with Dad that Friday. It's not easy putting your point over when you can only whisper, in case someone else hears you. I knew there was going to be trouble almost as soon as I got up. I opened my chest of drawers and my wardrobe doors and wondered what to wear.

“What about that top?” Dad suggested, pointing to a brown T-shirt.

“Ugh no!” I replied. “It's really old and the neckline's all wrong. I don't know why I bought it.”

“This one then.”

“No, Dad. That one makes me look fat.” I turned to look at him. “I know what you're trying to do.”

“What?”

He opened his eyes really wide, trying for an expression of complete innocence. I wasn't fooled.

“You're trying to make me look hideous so Sam won't fancy me. But you really don't have to bother.”

“No, I'm not. I wouldn't do such a thing and you could never look hideous.”

“Yeah right, and I wouldn't eat a whole packet of double-chocolate-chip cookies if they were put
in front of me.”

I picked out a turquoise-blue T-shirt with a scooped neck and three little mother-of-pearl buttons on the front.

“You're not wearing that, are you?” Dad said, eyeing it suspiciously.

“Yes,” I said, pushing the drawer closed in a definite way. “It's new so it'll make me feel nice.”

He frowned disapprovingly. “It's quite low-cut. You'd better make sure those buttons are done up.”

“Dad, for goodness' sake.”

I plucked my jeans from the wardrobe and headed for the bathroom. He really could be a pain sometimes.

I was seeing Sam at three o'clock and after lunch Dad walked with me to the five-bar gate that led from the farmhouse onto the road. “You're not coming with me.”

“Yes I am, young lady,” he replied, head on one side, hand on hip.

“NO, YOU ARE NOT.”

“And how are you going to stop me?”

That was a good question. I sighed, tried to run my fingers through my hair but they just got stuck in
my curls and one of my nails snagged. Great!

“You need to give me some space, Dad. I can't handle all of this being followed, being watched all the time. It's as if I'm being stalked. It's doing my head in.”

There, it was out in the open. I'd been thinking it for days but hadn't dared to say it.

“Well, I'm sorry,” he snapped back, “and I thought that I was just being a responsible father, just trying to make up for lost time.”

“And I feel as if you don't trust me. I feel as if I have to watch what I do and say all of the time in case you disapprove and I'm not the lovely Laura that you want me to be.”

“Well I'm obviously not the father you want
me
to be.”

We glared at each other.

“I didn't say that.”

“As good as.”

“Don't be childish.”

“I'm not. If you don't want me around for your assignation then fine, I won't be. But if you get into trouble, if that boy tries it on, then don't expect me
to make an appearance.”

“Assignation?” I sort of laughed. “What sort of an expression is that?”

But he was fading now.

“I'm not having this discussion any longer,” he said.

And with that he faded away. He'd got much better at that since he first appeared in my bedroom and made a hash of trying to hide from Mum. The trouble was that now I really didn't know if he was there or not. I leaned against the gate for a moment.
Wham!
The feeling hit me like one of Luke and Liam's footballs slamming straight into my stomach. Something had happened. Something big.

Don't get it out of proportion, Laura, I said to myself. It was just a row. All of those carefully constructed dreams about Dad, about what he was really like, how patient and understanding he would be, were ripped into ribbons. Finally I had to try and face up to it. Having Dad back in my life wasn't always as fantastic as I'd dreamed it would be.

G
LORIA

T
he front door to the vicarage was open, flooding the hall with light. Sunbeams bounced off the parquet floor. I rang the bell. Suddenly, stupidly, I felt nervous. Maybe Sam had just been trying to be nice. Maybe he really didn't want me here at all. After all he was a vicar's son. He was bound to have been brought up being kind to people and I was just one of them. I wasn't anyone special, not like Liberty. He probably wanted her to be standing here, not me. He was probably using me to get closer to her. But no, that's not what a nice, well-brought-up person would do. Aargh! I was so confused. I wanted to run away but a door banged off to the right and it was too late. Sam was already loping towards me.

“Hi,” he said, quickly averting his eyes, “come in.”

“Is it still okay? I mean I haven't got the wrong day or anything?”

He strode ahead and I almost had to run to keep up.

“No, why wouldn't it be?”

He flung the words over his shoulder and I suddenly wished that I'd got some company, that Dad had come with me after all. Having him there would have made me feel brave. Sam marched into the kitchen. I followed.

“Kettle's on,” he said, turning to look at me, “and we've got a cake from one of the parishioners. Carrot, is that okay?”

“Great.”

He clattered some mugs onto a tray while I perched on the arm of a pine bench, which was pushed back against the wall. He was all fingers and thumbs as he opened a tin and tried to separate two teabags. The shrillness of the whistle from the kettle seemed to match the atmosphere in the kitchen. He plonked the cake and two small plates onto the tray and gestured to me to follow him.

“I thought we'd be more comfortable in here.”

The sitting room was rectangular with a large stone fireplace in the centre of one wall and patio doors at the far end. The curtains were pink velvet and a little bit faded but the room had a really homely, comfortable feel to it. Next to the sofa was a long, low bookshelf crammed with books and magazines and pots of pens. On top of it was a large vase painted with a peacock and lots of photographs in frames.

“It's no good,” Sam said, almost dropping the tray onto the coffee table.

“What isn't?” I spluttered, wishing for the umpteenth time that I'd listened to Dad and stayed at home.

“Wait there,” he said. “I really don't know whether I'm doing the right thing here and I need to know sooner rather than later.”

He placed both palms over his cheeks. For some reason he couldn't look at me.

Oh my God, I thought and chastised myself for blaspheming in a vicarage. He's going to declare his undying love for Liberty. He's desperate to ask her out and wants to know where to take her on a date.

But then, instead of coming straight out with it, he told me to stay put while he went to get something. He frowned at me.

“You won't go away, will you?”

I shook my head. “Why would I?”

“You just look a bit… alarmed, that's all. There's no need to be. I'm not going to pounce on you or anything like that.”

Part of me felt a sudden stab of disappointment.

“No… I mean… I didn't think that, not for one minute.”

I could feel my face turning pink too. This was a disaster.

“I'll be back in a minute.”

He darted off and I stood up, moving over to the window, trying to calm my nerves, which felt as if they were sticking out of me like porcupine needles. As I stared across the garden towards the fields full of sheep, who should appear, face pressed to the glass, but Dad. Having thought I'd be relieved to see him I actually felt furious.

“Are you all right?” he mouthed, his lips looking disconcertingly fishlike.

“Yes. Go away.”

“You look nervous.”

“That's because I never know these days when you're going to appear or disappear.”

“I'm only looking out for you, Laura.”

“And putting thoughts into my head that weren't there before. Now go away. Please.”

How many times did I have to tell him? He frowned but he began to fade.

“You'd better have gone,” I mouthed, staring into the garden, trying to spot the slightest sign of him. It was very still outside, even the delphiniums in the border weren't waving about, so I turned around and wandered across the room to look at the photos of Sam. Concentrating on something might stop my heart from beating so fast and ease that tight, breathless feeling in my chest. Some of the photos were of Sam with his mum and dad. There was one with his sister and a beautiful arty black and white one of his mum with the two of them. Eventually I sat bolt upright on the sofa, in exactly the place I had been before Sam left the room. The fingers of one hand pulled at the fringing on the
cushion beneath me. On the mantelpiece a rectangular-shaped clock in a wooden case chimed the half hour. Sam was back in less than two minutes but it seemed much longer. I half turned as he came into the room.

“Don't look around,” he instructed. “In fact, close your eyes.” He was standing right behind me. It was really hard to keep my eyes closed. They wanted to flutter open, to give me the safety of sight.

He leaned over the back of the sofa so his face was very close to mine. If I'd turned our lips would have touched. He placed something on my lap, something soft and stumbling.

“You can open your eyes now.”

I didn't need to open my eyes to know what it was. I didn't need to see the tiny, fluffy ball of stripy black and brown fur to know that this was what I had longed for, for nearly all of my life. She turned towards me and I was lost in the huge, deep-blue eyes looking up at my face. This, I thought, must be what it's like to be in love.

“Oh!” I gasped.

I lifted the kitten up to my face and touched her nose with mine.

“Hello,” I whispered. “What's your name?”

She squirmed in my hands but a tiny pink tongue came out and licked my cheek.

I laughed and kissed the top of her head.

“Is she yours?” I asked Sam, unable to tear my gaze away from her.

“She's a present,” he said.

The pain that shot through me was like a searing burn, more intense than anything I'd ever felt before.

“For Liberty?”

He frowned. “No, not for Liberty. Why would it be for her?”

“I just thought…”

He took a deep breath.

“The kitten is for you, Laura.”

“For me?”

My head was swimming. I felt completely disconnected from reality. I barely knew this boy and he had done this, for me. Suddenly, all of the disappointments, all of the hurts of the last few weeks and months had been flung away.

“Really?” I asked, almost struck dumb with disbelief.

“Yes, really.” He smiled, leaning over and tickling the kitten behind her ears. “She's all yours. If you want her. I didn't mean to make you cry.”

Sam grabbed a box of tissues from the coffee table, shoved a clump into my hand and sat down beside me. I dabbed at my eyes, wishing I hadn't bothered with mascara as it was probably all running down my cheeks.

“I'm sorry.” My voice sort of cracked in two.

“If you don't want her, I can probably find someone else who does.”

I held the kitten close, felt her tiny heart beating against mine as I bent my head and rested my chin between her ears.

“Of course I want her,” I murmured. “How could anyone not want her? She's gorgeous.”

“Phew!” He wiped a hand theatrically across his brow.

I lifted the kitten up to my face and rested her against my shoulder.

“The problem is, I don't know if I'll be allowed to keep her. In London, Mum always said no to pets. I had a goldfish once, which Dad won from the fair
just before he died but that's it. And then there's Gran. We're living in her house and I know she used to have cats but…”

“Your gran knows, Laura. It was partly her idea. I mentioned that one of Dad's parishioners in the next village had a kitten going spare and that you'd said how you'd always wanted a cat. Your gran's cool about it.”

I smiled at the word. Only a few weeks ago I wouldn't have been able to imagine Gran being cool about anything, let alone anything to do with me.

“And Mum…?”

“Your gran's talked her round. I think your mum's just pleased to see your gran so enthusiastic about something for a change. She thinks it might be good for both of you.”

The kitten flopped against my shoulder like a baby.

“You've all been plotting behind my back.”

He grinned. “Yep!”

“It's one of the nicest things anyone has ever done for me. Thank you.”

And I leaned over and kissed him on the cheek. He looked embarrassed but not in a totally dismayed way. I laughed and so did he.

“I couldn't sleep last night,” he said. “I was worried that I'd made a big mistake. Lots of people say they want things but when it comes to it they change their mind.”

“I know,” I said, “but I haven't changed my mind about this. No way.”

“Good,” he said, passing me my mug of tea. “What are you going to call her?”

“I've no idea.”

I held the wriggling kitten out in front of me.

“What shall I call you?” I asked.

She opened her mouth and mewled.

“Something pretty, you say?”

I turned towards Sam.

“
You
should name her,” I said, “after all, you got her for me.”

“Uh huh!” he said, shaking his head. “You can't duck out of it like that. She's yours. You've got to choose the name.”

So we spent the rest of the afternoon trying to think up names and in the end it was right in front of me – or rather to the side of me. In the bookshelves were loads of CDs and on top of a higgledy-piggledy pile was one by Johann Sebastian Bach. Right across the front in big yellow letters it said ‘Gloria in excelsis Deo'. That had been one of Grandad's favourite pieces of music. He played it all the time. He even played it to the cows because he said it helped them to produce more milk.

“Gloria!” I said to Sam. “I'm going to call her Gloria.”

“Wow! That sounds awesome. Where did you get that from?” he asked.

I picked up the CD and waved it in front of him.

“From here and from my grandad.”

Sam tickled the kitten under her chin.

“I like it,” he said. “It's perfect.”

I beamed at him. I couldn't believe that I could feel so happy.