Pretty Twisted (13 page)

‘One of the coffee shops down the high street, I expect; she said she was meeting a friend. Can’t tell you which, and my taxi’s due in a minute. You’ll have to leave your things here and go and find her.’

I decided not to ask if I could wait in the house. Her tone implied that it wasn’t up for discussion. I dumped my bag in the hall.

‘By high street, you mean the area around the station, right?’

Auntie Phil nodded. I headed off. Freya didn’t pick up when I called her mobile, so I left a message. She’d ring soon – Freya was always fiddling with her phone. And there could only be so many coffee shops to look in.

A Starbucks, a Coffee Republic and two Costas later I still hadn’t found her. It seemed like I’d walked past a billion shops and I was wary of going too far. Freya still wasn’t picking up, and it would be useless asking people if they’d seen her. Maybe she’d got distracted by clothes shops? I peered through several windows without any luck. By now an hour and a half had passed. I mooched along the street, feeling pissed off. First Ros, now Freya. And to add to the general crapness of what should have been a fun day, it started to rain.

At about half five my phone rang.

‘Jonathan, where are you?’ asked Freya.

‘Inside Coffee Republic having a very late lunch,’ I said. ‘Where the hell are you? I’ve been wandering round for hours!’

‘Don’t be like that. I was with my friend Emma and something came up.’

‘Then why didn’t you call me? You knew I was going to be early.’

‘Jonny, I’m sorry; I’ll make it up to you, I promise. Me and Emma will be at the conservatoire in an hour – meet outside Embankment station? There’s a concert there tonight – student showcase, right up your street – that sound like a plan?’

Very clever, bringing your friend so I can’t let you know how pissed off I am, I thought. I headed to Embankment and hung about by the entrance, feeling more and more annoyed as the minutes passed. When – half an hour later – I caught sight of the top of Freya’s head in the crowd, I was all set to demand an explanation. But as she got closer, my anger died. She was pushing a wheelchair.

I wasn’t sure what to say as we stood in the queue outside the conservatoire. Though I didn’t mean to, I kept glancing at Emma. She was quite pretty, I guessed. Her hair was so fair it was almost white; paired with the pale blue coat she was wearing, it made her look a bit ghostlike. Freya had mentioned Emma a few times, but she’d never said she was disabled.

Freya apologized for leaving me waiting. ‘I thought Auntie Phil would let you in so you could go on the computer or something,’ she said. ‘If this happens again, there’s a spare key hidden in the bush by the door – go ahead and use it.’

Somehow I couldn’t find it in me to be angry any more. Besides, the conservatoire was amazing, all quirky and olde England, right by the Thames. I admired the view, watching headlights from buses and cabs weave their way through offices and apartments. My village only had a few street lights and the shop closed at six, so most people stayed in after dark. I could get used to London, I reckoned.

In the foyer, Freya went to get drinks, leaving me with Emma. I racked my mind for something to say and came out with, ‘You a student here too?’

Emma nodded. ‘Violin. Freya told me you play guitar.’

‘That’s right. Have done since I was tiny.’ Then, because I couldn’t help it: ‘She talks about me then?’

‘Sometimes. You’re a very lucky guy, you know.’

‘To have Freya? Yeah, I know.’

‘As in . . .
really
lucky.’

I wasn’t sure what she was getting at. ‘What d’you mean?’

Emma glanced across the foyer at a group of people our age. Though a couple had waved at her, it was clear they weren’t going to come over.

‘I’ve learned a lot about people in the last few weeks,’ she said. ‘When I started here, everyone was nice, but they kept their distance. Freya was the only one who bothered to get to know me. She really goes the extra mile to make sure I get included and have a good time. Can’t tell you what a difference that makes.’

Freya reappeared with three glasses of orange juice.

‘What’re you blushing for?’ she asked, handing round the drinks.

I shrugged, not wanting to say that though Emma’s words had made me feel really proud of Freya, they’d also made me feel I didn’t know very much about her new life at all.

Luckily Freya didn’t wait for an answer. She took the wheelchair with her spare hand. ‘Come on, let’s join the gang.’

Soon we were chatting with the other students and I started to feel more comfortable. People seemed interested in me – they seemed to find my stories of country life funny. And for once, it wasn’t because of Freya. Most of them didn’t even know she had a boyfriend, which surprised me a little. But it was good to know I fitted in – after being ignored so much at college, I’d started to wonder if there was something wrong with me.

The concert was a student showcase, which reminded me of the act I’d done with Freya. The standard was high, but that was no surprise. These kids had the best tuition in the country – like I could have had. And, even though I was enjoying the music, I started to feel angry at Mum and Dad all over again.

But maybe I wasn’t as talented as I wanted to believe. I hadn’t composed anything all term – I needed Freya to bounce ideas off and spot notes that didn’t work – and I hadn’t even felt like playing recently. And these guys were so good. With such competition, could I have even got into the conservatoire? I didn’t know – but now I’d had a taste, I wanted it. Badly.

I glanced at Freya. She was watching the performance with a smile on her face, and suddenly I felt like shaking her. I wanted to shout that I hated the choices my parents had made and being stuck in a place with people who didn’t understand me, and that if I could turn back the clock I would in an instant, and that I just hoped she appreciated how damn lucky she was.

After the show finished, we saw Emma home. The buses were supposedly wheelchair-friendly, but it was a hassle getting on and off and I couldn’t help admiring Freya’s patience. Near the end of the journey a gang of kids got on and started making loud comments about ‘spazzes’. Without even glancing their way, Freya stuck her finger up at them.

‘You never mentioned she was in a wheelchair,’ I said as we walked to the underground station after saying goodbye to Emma.

‘She’s isn’t all the time – only when she gets tired.’ Freya looked at me, smiling. ‘Why, did it surprise you?’

I shrugged. A lot of teenagers would think twice about being seen with someone in a wheelchair, but Freya genuinely didn’t mind. That was really kind – but then Freya always had been – which made how she’d been with me recently all the more worrying.

‘Anyway,’ Freya said, ‘enough about Emma. Did you like the conservatoire?’

‘Yeah. Course.’

‘You don’t sound very happy.’

‘I’m fine.’ I thought it was better not to mention that I was still seething with jealousy. ‘Just . . . guess today made me think. It feels like everything I care about’s slipping away from me.’

‘You mean me?’

For a moment I felt panicked. It was one thing for me to worry, but another to hear her acknowledge there were problems. ‘Freya, I love you, you know that. But it’s been weird since you came here.’

Freya looked serious. ‘You surely didn’t expect everything to stay the same?’

Maybe I’m naive, but I had. Back at the start of summer, when everything had been going so well, it hadn’t occurred to me that distance might strain our relationship. Now though – it wasn’t just paranoia telling me things weren’t working.

I took her hand. ‘I don’t want to lose you. Sure, we talk, but you can’t kiss or hold someone over a phone, and though I know that’s not what a relationship’s about, it’s reassuring. Sometimes I’m not sure you care any more.’

‘What makes you think that?’

It was hard to answer without launching into self-pity.

‘Maybe we need to talk more,’ I said. ‘Truth is, there’s a lot on my mind at the moment.’ And I found myself telling her about college, my parents and music. When I was done, Freya ran a hand through her hair, shaking her head. We were on a train now, standing by the doors because all the seats were taken.

‘This isn’t what you want to hear . . . but really, your life isn’t that bad.’

‘Easy for you to say.’ I didn’t mean to snap, but I felt defensive and vulnerable.

Freya looked at me with a funny expression. ‘Grow up, Jonny.’

‘What? Freya, this is real to me!’

‘You say you hate college; well, I say, college is what you make of it. Sure, you don’t want to be there, but are you going to angst about that for two years or try to make the best of it? Totally understand you being upset about the music, but honestly, you don’t need to go to music school or even have an A level to go professional. How about you advertise for music buddies in the area, form a band?’

‘I could, I s’pose, but—’

‘Why not? Jonny, you get grade As on automatic – how do you think it feels to be me, who wasn’t born smart like you and has to slog for halfway decent grades? How do you think it feels to be Emma? She has multiple sclerosis. Some days she’s fine, but others she throws up, sees strange stuff, and sometimes when she has a bad attack she ends up in hospital on a drip. Today wasn’t good and we had to get out the wheelchair; that’s why I couldn’t meet up with you.’ She paused. ‘I wish you’d take life on the chin a bit more! I know it sounds harsh, but the only person who’s stopping you being happy is you.’

Suddenly I really wished I could talk to Ros. She sometimes told me things I didn’t want to hear, but she always managed it in a way that made me feel optimistic rather than small and mean.

‘Well,’ I said off-handedly, ‘least I know what you think now.’

Freya laid her hand on my chest. ‘Don’t get all huffy. We can still have a nice weekend.’

I sighed. ‘Yeah.’

There was no point in saying the other thing on my mind – that this London Freya felt even less like the Freya I’d said goodbye to than I realized. Had she simply moved on, or had I been deluding myself?

Rosalind

Saturday 4 October, 4.00 p.m.

All week I couldn’t bear to talk to Jonathan. Several emails from him had appeared in my inbox.

That was the worst one. He sounded so hurt. Several times I nearly replied, but I couldn’t think of what to say.

After talking almost every day, it felt like there was a huge gap in my life. Not knowing what Jono was doing or if he was OK was driving me mad, and I kept thinking of things I wanted to tell him, stuff no one else would understand. I read over some old emails, hoping they might make me feel as though he was there, but they only made things worse.

Most of all, I hated knowing he’d spent the weekend with Freya. It was wrong to resent someone I’d never met, but I did. However hard I tried, however much I cared about Jonathan, it would never be enough, because she was – and always would be – his number one. I wondered for the hundredth time what he saw in her. Sure, she was stunning, and the music was a common interest, but I didn’t believe they could be on the same wavelength – not like we were. Maybe one day Jono would realize that.

Ten o’clock on Saturday found me at High Street Kensington. I was wearing a pair of seventies flared dungarees which I’d picked up in another charity shop. It took me a while to find Gabe’s house. The streets seemed different in the light of day. The doorbell was broken, so I rapped on the door. After a while it was thrown open.

‘You! What the hell time is this for a social call?’ It was Hugh, hunched like a primeval man who’d slept in a hedge. Feeling myself blush, I looked away. I’d seen shirtless guys on TV, but for some reason Hugh made me feel uncomfortable.

‘I left my hat here,’ I said. ‘I hope you haven’t thrown it away.’

‘Hah! Cute way-too-suspicious Ros. Nice flares, by the way.’ He sloped up the stairs scratching his shoulder. I closed the door and followed him to the sitting room, where I was almost bowled over by a very excited Dog. He ran round me in circles, then rolled over on his back. Touched that he remembered me, I knelt down and scratched his tummy.

‘He likes you.’

I looked up at Hugh. ‘Well, I like him.’

Giving Dog a final pat, I got up and looked round the room, which was in a state.

‘Nothing to do with me, if that’s what you’re wondering,’ Hugh said. ‘Some of Graham’s rubbish mates got pissed and thought smashing the place up would be exquisite entertainment.’

‘So that’s why the doorbell isn’t working.’

‘They did worse than break the doorbell, they broke the telly! Bastards.’

‘You’ll live.’ I found my hat, underneath the beanbag I’d been sitting on.