Read Me Like a Book (20 page)

“There’s nothing to be sorry about,” she says with a smile, but it’s not like her usual smile, and I know she’s retreated to some place where I’m not allowed to follow. It’s part of the rules to the games we play. The rules she wrote and I haven’t even read. “Have a good weekend, Ashleigh.”

“Yeah, you too.”

And then she’s gone, and I’m standing in a side street in the rain, wondering where the hell to go from here.

My mother puts the microphone back in its holder and takes a small bow as applause ripples around Feathers. It’s their monthly singer/songwriter night. It’s basically karaoke, but they changed the name a couple of years ago when someone told the manager that no one does karaoke anymore. Whoever gave them that information was clearly wrong, as it’s their busiest night every month.

I’m squashed in a corner with Tony, Fish in the Sea number two, who’s clapping his hands together above his head as though she’s served an ace in the final at Wimbledon. I’m not sure how I ended up being a gooseberry like this; she said it would be “safer” that way. He’s all right, actually. Quite promising. He’s a little bit taller than her, thin and wiry. Nice smile. They spoke loads on the phone before tonight. When he turned up, he brought a card — for me!

“What’s this for?” I asked, ripping open the envelope. It was a good-luck card.

“Your A-levels,” he said, winking at Mum. “Your mother says you get a bit anxious.”

I stifled a laugh. It was quite sweet of him, really.

“She’s ever so good, isn’t she?” he says now, jumping up a little in his seat, his eyes following her as she picks her way around the tables back to us.

“Yeah.” I sip my drink. “She’s all right.”

He touches her back briefly as she slips into the seat between us. “You were brilliant.” He passes her lager and lime across the table. “To your mum,” he says, lifting his glass. “Simon Cowell, I hope you’re watching.”

Mum laughs and smiles at him.

“Cheers, Tony.” I clink his glass.

A little while ago, it might have been a bit weird seeing Mum with another man. Right now, I don’t care about anything, except the fact that Miss Murray hugged me. It’s all I’ve thought about for two weeks. We’ve not really spoken since. I’ve been too shy to think of excuses to hang around after lessons, and, more often than not, she’s left in a bit of a hurry lately.

While Mum and Tony chat and laugh, I slip into one of my favorite fantasies. I’ve done something brilliant, written a book and won an award or something. Miss Murray’s in the audience, and I thank all the people who have helped, then I pause and look at her. She’s staring at me, her eyes shining as I dedicate the award to her, telling everyone that everything I did was for her, and everything I am is because of her. People look around and nudge one another and point and whisper, but I don’t care, because I know that I love her, and that she loves me too.

“Another drink, Ash?” Tony’s standing up and tapping his empty pint glass.

“Or shall we go, love?” Mum breaks in. “You look tired.”

I’m about to suggest leaving when I spot a vaguely familiar face. “Jayce!” I call. Mum and Tony turn to see two smart young men in suits heading our way. I fumble over the introductions. What do you say?
Mum, this is your husband’s girlfriend’s son. Jayce, this is your new dad’s wife and her boyfriend?
In the end I chicken out and let them all work it out for themselves — which leaves me wondering who his friend is.

“And this is Adam. From work,” Jayce mutters. Then he adds quickly, “Let me get a round.”

“Good timing, lads,” Tony says. “Just a Coke for me, please. Designated driver.”

“I’ll help.” I follow, leaving Adam with Mum and Tony.

“She’s not got a bad voice, your mum,” Jayce says as we make our way back across the pub with the drinks. The others are deep in conversation about their favorite musicals. “God, he’s such an old fart,” Jayce says as he nudges me and points at Adam.

“Why don’t we do a turn together?” Mum says, her cheeks pink as she downs her drink and Jayce passes her a fresh one. Adam looks at Jayce.

“Nothing to do with me, mate; you’re on your own here,” Jayce tells him with a grin.

“What would we sing?” Adam asks Mum.

“Anything.”

Adam passes the book of songs to Mum. “You choose.”

“I know what we’ll do.” Mum smiles shyly at Tony, then passes the book to Adam.

“Ooh, yes. Robbie Williams and Nicole Kidman. I love that song.”

Mum looks shocked. “You mean Frank and Nancy Sinatra!”

Adam shrugs. “I guess it’s a generation thing.” Then he knocks back half of his pint, drags his sleeve across his mouth, and takes his jacket off. He loosens his tie and bends down to take Mum’s hand. “Right, come on then. Let’s do it.”

They make their way to the front of the pub, whispering to each other as a round of applause breaks out. The bar owner, Mr. Green, is taking a bow after his monthly rendition of “My Way.”

Minutes later, the three of us are transfixed as Mum and Adam give an amazing performance of “Something Stupid.” It’s as if they’ve been rehearsing it for weeks. There’s a roar of applause and calls for an encore when they’ve finished. They bow for ages, grinning at each other.

“Are you sure you two have never met before?” Jayce asks suspiciously as they squeeze back into their seats, eyes shining.

“Do you think they liked us?” asks Mum.

Tony puts his hand on hers. “They thought you were absolutely wonderful.”

Mum leaves her hand for a couple of seconds, then moves it and gives me a quick glance. I take a swig of my drink.

Jayce is looking sideways at Adam. “All this time, you had a hidden talent and I never knew.”

“So, how long have you two known each other?” Mum asks Jayce.

“We met through work,” he answers quickly.

“I order books and he bosses me about,” Adam adds with a grin.

“You’d better watch what you get up to, then,” Tony says. “Don’t want to go upsetting the boss.”

“Absolutely.” Jayce drains his glass and waves it at Adam. “I keep telling him that.”

Adam takes the glass and stands up. “Right, I’d better get the drinks then, hadn’t I?” He points at Mum’s glass. “What’re you having, Ms. Sinatra?”

Outside the pub, we all hug each other as though we’re lifelong buddies.

“Really nice to see you again, Ash,” Jayce says.

“Yeah, you too,” I slur, suddenly realizing I’ve had about five too many. And then, before I know it, Tony’s driving us home, Mum humming gently, me in the back.

“Nice lads,” he’s saying to no one in particular, and it’s midnight and I’m another day closer to seeing Miss Murray again.

My hands are shaking as I lift up my notes. We’re in the gym, which is a bit of a joke as there are only about thirty people here altogether — ten from the debating group and then whatever friends we’ve each managed to drag along. I didn’t tell any of mine about it, other than Robyn, obviously. I catch her eye and she gives me a big grin and a thumbs-up.

How on earth did we end up with
this
as a topic?

My heart is beating so hard it feels as if it’s jamming up my throat. I squeeze my words around it. “We’ve heard many arguments on both sides of the question of gay rights around the world. Things are better than they were — in some countries. In others, things are pretty much as bad as they’ve ever been. So I just have one question . . .”

I catch Miss Murray’s eye for a split second, my cheeks burning. She smiles, and I instantly look away.

“If it was you being told you couldn’t marry the person you love, you being told you couldn’t adopt a child, you who had to hide what you are for fear of imprisonment — would you still think it was OK? Gay people are just the same as everyone else in the world. Don’t they”— I can’t help it; I emphasize the
they
— “deserve the same rights as everyone else? Last time I looked, this is the twenty-first century, and it’s about time the world stopped passing judgment on people because of who they happen to love. Love doesn’t discriminate, and nor should the law. Not in this country. Not in this world. Not in this lifetime.”

I take a tiny bow before sitting down and tidying my notes. It gives me a chance to look down and hide my burning face.

There’s a moment of silence before my team starts to clap. I look up. Miss Murray is staring at me, an unreadable look on her face. Then she claps too. Most of the room is clapping. Some are on their feet. Robyn’s cheering and whistling and clapping harder than anyone. A couple of girls at the back are giggling behind their hands. I don’t care.

We win the vote by a landslide.

I should have left with Robyn and the rest of the team. They’ve gone to the pub for a drink to celebrate our win. I made up some excuse about having to call my mum first and said I’d meet them there. I feel really embarrassed lying to Robyn, but I can’t help it. I can’t leave yet.

I suppose that makes me a full-fledged nerd. I’m skipping a pint to help stack chairs and tables in a school gym.

I plonk some chairs down next to Miss Murray. Everyone else has gone except Mr. Philips.

Miss Murray smiles. “You were brilliant,” she says.

“Thanks.” I smile back. Embarrassed. I notice she’s looking pale and tired. Not her usual self. “Are you OK?” I ask.

She turns away and picks up a couple more chairs. “I’ve been better.”

I want to ask her what’s wrong but can’t seem to think of the words.

“OK if I leave you with this?” Mr. Philips is putting his jacket on. “Last train in five minutes!”

“Has everyone else gone?” she asks him.

“Yep. Just us in here.”

“I don’t mind helping finish off,” I say.

“Thanks, Ashleigh,” he says on his way out the door. “Good speech, by the way.”

And then he’s gone, and we’re on our own.

I daren’t look at her. I concentrate on piling up chairs as though it’s the most engrossing thing I’ve ever done. She’s carrying a stack toward me, and I don’t trust myself to speak.

“Sorry if I’m not very talkative,” Miss Murray says finally as she puts the chairs down and leans against them.

Before I manage to stop myself, I say, “It’s not me, is it?”

Her face curls into a frown. “You? Why would it be you?”

“I don’t know. I just thought . . .” My voice trails off. How the hell can I say what I feel when her eyes are focused on me like they are now? I just want to lose myself in her. I think I am.

“I’m just going through a bad patch at home,” she says lightly. Then she looks away and adds, “My partner has left me.”

It’s the most honest thing she’s ever said to me, and the best, and the worst.

“Oh, I’m sorry.” Am I? How can I be sorry that there’s no “other person” anymore? For a ridiculous moment, I wonder if it’s because she has feelings for me too. “When?”

“Over the weekend. It’s been coming for a while.” Her voice cracks a little, and she rubs her eyes with her fist.

“How could anyone leave you?” I whisper. “You’re so — brilliant.”

She grimaces. “You don’t know me.”

“I know some things.” I take a tiny step toward her. “I know you’re really smart, and you think about stuff, and you’re caring.”

“See, I told you, you clearly don’t know me at all. I’m not really any of those things,” she says bitterly, turning away from me to balance another chair on her pile. “I’m selfish, it turns out, and thoughtless and insensitive.”

I look at her from behind as she talks. Wisps of hair lie carelessly on the back of her neck, and the desire to touch her shoots through me from my stomach to my throat. I edge closer to her.

“You’re the best person I’ve ever known,” I say, my voice shaking with nerves and longing. I want to kiss her neck. I don’t know if I can stop myself.

Then she turns around and her face is centimeters away from mine. “Ash, I don’t think —”

I stare at her mouth as she starts to speak. But she doesn’t finish her sentence, and she’s looking at me too. Suddenly, everything outside this room doesn’t matter, doesn’t exist. The only thing that means anything is what’s happening now, here, between us.

I’m going to kiss her.

I am. I’m going to do it. I can almost feel her lips, soft against mine. The longing is so intense it’s like a physical pain, pain like I’ve never known — the pain of needing someone so much.