Playlist for a Broken Heart (3 page)

‘Hey, Paige,’ he said when he saw me.

I blushed and felt flattered that he’d remembered my name. ‘Oh. Hi, I mean hey,’ I managed to get out.

‘I hear you’re leaving?’

I nodded and desperately wished I could think of something witty or interesting to say, but looking into his eyes made my mind go blank. He had such beautiful grey-green eyes.

‘So we won’t be playing opposite each other after all?’

I shook my head. ‘Nuh.’

He shrugged. ‘Bad timing, hey?’

I nodded. Words seemed to have totally escaped me.

Allegra came to my rescue as always. ‘She’s going to live in Bath,’ she said.

Alex didn’t take his eyes off me. ‘Bath?’

Allegra moved away a distance. ‘I’ll catch you later,’ she said. ‘I’ve er . . . got a thing.’

Over Alex’s shoulder, she turned, grinned and gave me the thumbs-up. Alex continued to look into my eyes.

‘Yes. Bath. Somerset,’ I managed to get out. ‘We go after Easter.’

‘I know Bath. I know it well. Used to live there before we came here and I often go back to see my cousin and mates. You’ll like it. Wow. So soon . . . Well, good luck,
Paige.’

‘Uh. Thanks.’ He’s kind to say that I’d like Bath, I thought, though I knew I wouldn’t.

Alex looked reluctant to go and, as he continued to look into my eyes, I felt an ache of longing. He really did have lovely eyes. He smiled down at me. ‘Parting is such sweet
sorrow,’ he said, quoting Juliet from the play, then looked at me as if he wanted me to finish the line. I knew it so well but the words wouldn’t come.

‘That I shall say goodnight till it be morrow.’ He finished the line for me. We both smiled and it felt as if we were in a bubble, all alone and away from the rest of the world,
school and its many pupils rushing by us in the corridor. He continued with another quote from the play, this time one of Romeo’s. ‘Farewell, farewell! One kiss, and I’ll
descend.’

I suddenly remembered my lines and felt a surge of energy.

I put every bit of what I was feeling into the lines and could see he felt it too.

said Alex, continuing as Romeo. His lines were full of the passion that was fitting for the star-crossed lovers and his eyes twinkled as if he was enjoying our exchange.

I asked. Alex put his hand on my arm.

I said with a sigh. I was really getting into the part now, finding it so easy to talk to him with someone else’s words.

‘And trust me, love, in my eye so do you,’ Alex quoted. ‘Dry sorrow drinks our blood. Adieu, adieu!’

He reached up and touched my chin, a gesture so gentle and yet it made my heart thud in my chest. Suddenly he grinned. ‘Shame, Paige,’ he said. ‘We’d have been good
together.’

I nodded and blushed.
We’d
have been good together? Did he mean as a couple? Alex and Paige, or acting Romeo and Juliet?
I guess I’ll never know now
, I thought as
he looked away.

‘Take care of yourself,’ he said, then turned, and a second later he was gone.

I stood there in shock and it wasn’t long before Allegra came back to join me.

‘I . . . I just had a moment with Alex. A
moment
moment. There was chemistry.’

‘I know,’ said Allegra and she grinned. ‘I saw.’

On our last day, I felt as if I was floating. Despite the fact that all around me familiar items had disappeared into boxes and cases, a part of me kept thinking something
would happen to make it right, a fairy godmother come to the rescue. If Alex could speak to me and look into my eyes, miracles did happen; but no, the removal men arrived and the last of my safe
and secure world was carried out the door by eight men in yellow overalls. Carpets, rugs, sofas and furniture were going in the vans then into a storage warehouse somewhere down the motorway. Mum,
Dad and I would be travelling by car and had suitcases with the bare minimum of belongings.

Allegra came to say a final goodbye. ‘I’ll come back to see you soon,’ I said as we stood on the porch at the front of our house.

‘And I’ll come down to Bath as soon as I can,’ she said. ‘I promise.’

I tried to make myself smile but couldn’t hold back the tears. ‘Laters.’

‘Laters,’ said Allegra. She had tears in her eyes too.

We hugged goodbye then it was time for her to go. As I watched her walk away, it felt as if my stomach was full of knives, all cutting into me. Allegra had been my best friend since my first day
in Year Seven. Apart from holidays abroad with our families, I’d seen her every day for almost four years. She was part of me and I couldn’t imagine life without her.

When the removal men had closed up the back of their vans and gone, Mum and I went round the empty rooms checking that there was nothing left. It felt eerie and empty and, without the
furnishings that had always been there to soften sound, the rooms echoed our footsteps. I was trying my best to be cheerful because, as time had gone on, it had really hit home how hard the move
was for Mum and Dad as well as me, and me blubbing wouldn’t help. Mum was still doing her cheerful act but, when we’d done the rounds of the house and she’d shut the front door
and locked it, she looked like she was going to cry. Dad went to get the car and Mum and I stood a moment in the front garden. She looked up at the bare windows on the first floor and then her
tears did come.

‘I can’t believe I’ll never go in there again, my home,’ she said. ‘Or see my garden, my lovely roses bloom this year.’

I put my arms around her and she hugged me tight.

‘It’s only until we find a place of our own again,’ I said. ‘We’ll be back on our feet in no time.’

The look she gave me broke my heart. A smile that said, ‘You just don’t get it, do you?’ But I did.

Dad brought round the car to the front and Mum and I climbed in. It was a Volkswagen Polo. The Porsche and Mercedes had gone weeks ago. I’d noticed that the cars weren’t in their
usual spots on the drive but had assumed they were in for service, never imagining for a minute that they’d gone for good, but that was before I knew the truth.

Dad didn’t glance back at the house but Mum and I both looked out the back window as we drove away as if trying to hang on to our life there. I felt brokenhearted. The car turned the
corner and the house was gone.

Mum gazed out of the window at the traffic.‘And so life flows on,’ she said as we drove through Richmond towards Kew and out to the M4 where Dad hit the fast lane towards Bath.

A new chapter for all of us
, I thought as I tried to push images of Alex Taylor’s face out of my mind.
I wonder what it will hold
?

Mystery Boy

A girl. A girl in the park. She’s walking her dog – though by the way the dog is pulling on the lead, the dog is walking her. She has chestnut-coloured hair,
glossy in today’s sun. She’s wearing jeans and a red jacket. She never notices me, though I’ve seen her around a few times. There’s something about her. The way she moves. A
lightness. A grace. A brightness about her face. Sometimes she’s on her phone, sometimes she’s talking to her dog. I wish she’d talk to me. She looks like fun to be with, as if
she’d have a lot to say. Seeing her makes me feel alone although I’m not. I know tons of people. I’d like to approach her but I don’t know how, though normally I can talk
for England. She makes me feel awkward and dumb. I can’t do it. I feel like I’d babble and blush and look a fool.

My far-away girlfriend. Is she out of my league?

My brave face lasted about five minutes once we’d got to Aunt Karen’s. Not that Aunt Karen wasn’t friendly – she was and she greeted each of us with a
big hug then ushered us inside. She’s four years younger than Mum and they’re like chalk and cheese in looks. Mum is impeccable and slim in her classic designer clothes, usually navy
and cream, Aunt Karen is curvier in well-worn jeans, colourful tops and trainers, and her shoulder-length auburn hair is as unruly as Mum’s blonde bob is tamed. Uncle Mike was dressed in a
similar casual style in jeans and a red fleece.

My four cousins, Tasmin, Jake, Joe and Simon, were squashed on a sofa watching TV. Uncle Mike had tea and biscuits ready for us. I smiled at Tasmin and she gave me a brief nod by way of reply
– a greeting of sorts, but not very friendly considering I’ve known her most of my life and we’d always got on. I hadn’t seen her since a family wedding a few years ago. She
was fresh-faced and chatty and we’d had fun hanging out with the other teens. Since then, she’s got curvier, sulky-looking and, although the same age as me, she looked about twenty.

The TV programme
Snog, Marry or Avoid
came into my head as I took in her fake tan, false eyelashes, heavily made-up eyes and the dyed long blonde hair that looked like extensions. The
programme shows a before and after beauty treatment where the presenters do a reverse makeover and get girls who overdo the slap to look more like themselves and less like drag artists.
Tasmin
would really benefit from a more natural look
, I thought as Tasmin looked at me with equal dismay. She was dressed in tights, denim shorts, trainers and a tight red top. I guess I looked
super-straight to her in my white shirt and jeans, hair tied back and no make-up apart from a touch of mascara and lip gloss. Mum had drummed it into me that less is more when it comes to
make-up.

‘Switch that television off,’ said Aunt Karen to Jake, the eldest. Reluctantly he did as he was told then slumped back on the sofa. They’d obviously all been told to be there
to greet us. Uncle Mike poured tea and Dad looked as miserable as I felt as we sat together on the other sofa in the room making weak attempts at conversation, though Mum looked happy to see her
sister. I noticed that Uncle Mike had odd socks on, one blue, one grey. The room looked lived in, with games, DVDs, books, magazines and school-books on every surface.

After fifteen minutes of catching up on each other’s latest news, Uncle Mike insisted on taking Dad down to the pub.

‘You look like you need a stiff drink, mate,’ he said to him and whisked Dad away, leaving Mum and I to my cousins, more tea and biscuits. The boys were sweet enough – Jake
with his mother’s wavy hair was twelve and clearly going to be a heartbreaker; Joe, who was ten, was more shy than the others; and Simon, the youngest at seven, was full of energy and
enthusiasm for our stay.

‘And are you going to stay here forever?’ he asked. ‘Mum said you’re homeless. Have you been sleeping on the streets in London? I have a tent you can borrow if you
like.’

‘Shhh, Simon,’ said Aunt Karen. ‘They’re not homeless. They have us.’

Mum looked at the floor during this exchange while I tried to gauge how my cousin, Tasmin was feeling. It was hard to tell because her face showed nothing but boredom. As Mum and Aunt Karen
caught up with family gossip, the boys began to look restless and soon drifted away upstairs. Tasmin kept looking at her mother, who ignored her. I got the feeling that she’d been told to
stay and be sociable, although she wasn’t making any effort to talk to me and I wasn’t in the mood for being chatty either. I felt shell-shocked at the speed with which my life had
changed. In the last few weeks in London, even though the house was being packed up, it felt unreal. Now we’d done the drive and were sitting in Aunt Karen’s house, our suitcases in the
hall, there was no more denying the reality and I felt overwhelmingly sad about the loss of life as I’d known it.

Finally Aunt Karen took notice of the awkward silence. ‘Tasmin, can you show Paige where she’s going to be sleeping,’ she instructed.

‘Umpf,’ said Tasmin. Or some word like that. She got up and with a jerk of her chin indicated that I should follow her upstairs.

‘Shall I bring my bag?’ I asked.

‘Well I’m not carrying it up for you,’ said Tasmin. ‘I’m not a servant.’

‘Tasmin,’ said Aunt Karen. ‘Don’t be rude.’

Tasmin looked pleadingly at her mum then back at me. ‘Well there’s nowhere for you to put stuff but you can bring it up, I guess.’

‘Tasmin, I told you to clear some space in the wardrobe and a couple of drawers,’ said Aunt Karen.

‘I tried, but where I am I supposed to put
my
things?’ asked Tasmin. ‘We’re short of space as it is in this house.’

Aunt Karen glared at her but she shrugged and went up the stairs that led off the sitting room. I got my case from the narrow hallway then followed her up. I got the message loud and clear. She
was no happier with the new arrangements than I was.

On the first-floor landing, she pushed open a bedroom door. It had a sign on it in black letters. KEEP OUT ON PAIN OF DEATH. PRIVATE. Underneath was a skull-and-bones image. I went in after her.
It was a small boxroom, painted pink, with a chest of drawers, wardrobe and full-length mirror which was surrounded by pages showing fashion shoots that had been cut out from magazines and
Blu-Tacked to the wall. It smelt sweet and girlie – of strawberries and hairspray. There were clothes everywhere, on hangers behind the door, piled over the end of Tasmin’s bed, strewn
on a chair behind the door. I saw that a campbed had been made up for me on the right of the room opposite hers on the left.