Signs of Love - Love Match (18 page)

I jump as the door squeaks open.

It’s Will. He scowls at me as he wanders in. ‘That’s my PC.’

I meet his gaze steadily. ‘The computers belong to everyone.’

He grunts, eyeing the desk suspiciously. ‘I hope you haven’t messed with anything.’

‘I’ve been too busy with my own work to bother with yours,’ I tell him.

He reaches across the desk. I lean out of the way as he jerks open the drawer beside me and pulls out some papers. He opens his bag, shoves the papers into it, then fishes out his mobile phone.

‘Still no calls.’ He says, sounding disappointed.

‘Expecting one?’

‘I was trying to set up an interview with a knife-crime victim.’

I want to offer help again. Someone who’s been stabbed might respond better to a fourteen-year-old girl than a surly fifteen-year-old boy. But I don’t say anything.
If you’re too proud to take help, take a hike.
I remember his horoscope. I doubt he’s even read it.

‘Shame.’ I grab my bag and head for the match. I’m not going to give him another chance to point out what a hopeless ditz I am.

I arrive panting at the sideline just as the ref blows his whistle for the kick-off. A thin crowd is dotted round the edge of the pitch. Eager parents watch in clusters.

The Green Park team spread out, battle-ready from the off. Treacle nods at me from centrefield and then launches herself at the ball.

‘Hi.’ I jump as I hear Jeff’s voice behind me. I turn and see him walking towards me holding a notebook.

I blink in surprise. I hadn’t even noticed him. ‘Hi. Are you taking notes for the webzine?’

‘Yep.’ He narrows his eyes as Treacle makes a charge for goal, and groans as she’s tackled away.

‘If you need me to add any hearts or flowers, just ask,’ I joke.

He grins. ‘Nah, I think I’ll be fine without, thanks.’

Treacle is playing brilliantly. She hooks the ball from between a winger’s feet and makes a break, crossing to Jing-Wei who heads a long ball over the bar.

Jeff gets so caught up in the action he stops note-taking. ‘I didn’t know girls could play football like this.’ He sounds genuinely impressed.

It’s an all-out battle on pitch – good-humoured – but both sides are playing like their lives depend on it.

Anila punches away a ball as the opposing team, Westbury High, make an attack on our goal. Green Park are struggling to get possession; Westbury High keep pushing us back. Then Erin Slater steals the ball and zigzags down the pitch, dribbling her way past both defenders and striking a powerful kick into the side netting just as the ref blows the half-time whistle.

‘Wow! It’s a really exciting game!’ I say, turning to Jeff, but he’s busy scribbling notes in his jotter.

When the second half begins, Karen sends a low drive wide.

‘Come on!’ Jeff urges. ‘Score!’ He gives a heartfelt groan as Treacle flashes an effort across the face of the goal, missing by a whisker.

My heart starts to race as Westbury High punt the ball back upfield, veering dangerously close to our goal, but Anila slides it away from their striker and sends it back down the pitch. Karen’s ready to take it and sweeps down the outside.

I roar with delight as she knocks it into the back of the net. Jeff’s chewing on his pen, his eyes fixed on the play. With a minute to go, Treacle snatches the ball from a Westbury High defender and hammers it past the goalie. As she wheels away in delight, she gives me a wave. I wave back. With both hands! I’m so happy for her. I make sure I’m not standing too close to Jeff though. The last thing I want to do is ruin Treacle’s moment of joy by making her jealous again. This playing Cupid thing is a whole lot trickier than it seems.

When the ref blows the final whistle Jeff throws his arms in the air and gives a massive cheer. ‘I’ll be celebrating tonight,’ he tells me when he’s calmed down.

‘How?’

‘Oh, I dunno – pizza and a Jack Black movie probably.’

Jack Black is Treacle’s comedy hero! I knew it. The wedding cake is iced and the invitations are sent. I can’t keep the grin off my face. A couple more nudges from Jessica Jupiter and these two will become one, I’m sure of it.

I have spent more nights in hospital waiting rooms than anyone I know. And here I am again, staring at the empty chairs.

Ben’s fever shot up just after midnight and we had to bring him in.

You’d think they’d turn the lights down at night, but the waiting room’s ablaze with a zillion fluorescent watts flaring like magnesium against the white walls and floors.

Mum’s in with Ben. Dad’s pacing the corridor outside. I can tell that he’s torn between me and them. The nurses don’t want us
all
in there.

‘I’m OK,’ I promise him. ‘Go and sit with them. I’ve got my laptop.’

Dad stops and looks at me. ‘Are you sure you’ll be OK?’

‘Yeah.’ I’ve been here enough times before to know what to do. Whenever Ben gets an infection, I pack a bag with crisps, drink, chocolate, MP3 player, book and laptop and hang it on the back of my door when I go to bed. That way, I’m ready for any hospital waiting room anywhere in the world.

Dad reaches down and kisses my head. I don’t really want him to go. I’m as scared as he is. But I swallow the lump rising in my throat and force a smile as he hurries away.

I reach into my bag and pull out the chocolate. Once a big chunk is melting on my tongue, I reach for my laptop. I might as well finish the horoscopes.

But once the document’s open in front of me, it’s seems silly.

Ben may die. I can’t write dumb horoscopes for Jessica Jupiter. Instead I open a fresh file and start typing.

I attach my article to an email, type in the webzine’s address and send it from my hotmail account. Cindy will never know it’s from me. My username’s Newshound95.

‘Gemma, love.’ I look up and see Dad standing in front of me.

I catch my breath. ‘How is he. Is he . . . ?’ The words stick in my throat.

‘He’s stable.’ I can hear relief in Dad’s voice. It washes over me. ‘I’m going to take you home so you can get some sleep.’

‘What about Mum?’

‘She’s staying.’ Dad takes my bag and swings it over his shoulder; then puts his arm round me and steers me towards the door.

Mr Harris clears his throat. ‘I hope you don’t mind if I sit in.’

It’s Friday afternoon. Cindy’s called a planning meeting for next week’s edition.

I stifle a yawn, wishing I was home. It’s been a long week. Mum’s practically been living in the hospital, waiting for the antibiotics to start working. But so far, nothing’s fighting the bug and Ben’s still hooked up to machines with a round-the-clock watch.

I check my phone for the 498th time in case there’s news, but there’s no message icon flashing in the corner. I slide it back into my pocket and try to concentrate on the deadline meeting.

As soon as Mr Harris takes a chair beside the door, the door swings wide. Mr Harris ducks and Will rolls in like a thundercloud. ‘No article from me this week,’ he announces. ‘My contact’s pulled out, and with no interview, there’s no story.’

‘There’s still the weekend,’ I offer. I’m sitting behind my usual desk, David and Phil opposite, Jeff leaning on their desk. ‘Can’t you find a new contact?’

‘Yeah, right.’ Will stares down at me. ‘Like I’m tripping over stab victims.’

Sam’s lolling in his chair, feet on desk. ‘Hey, Will, any chance you could chill and give Gemma a break?’

Will flashes him a look, but shuts up. I give Sam a grateful smile.

‘Don’t forget Mr Harris has joined us today,’ Barbara reminds us gently. She’s sitting beside Cindy, smiling sweetly.

Cindy’s not. Cindy’s face is like stone. I guess she’s trying not to crack her make-up. She and Barbara look like they’re playing Good cop/Bad cop. I follow the fantasy, amused by the thought of Cindy drawing a Colt 45 out of her backpack.

‘Sit down, Will.’ I picture her pistol-whipping him into a seat, then wiping his blood from the muzzle. ‘I want to get started.’

I want to get finished.
Fear kicks in. Perhaps Mum’s not texting because it’s bad news. Perhaps I should just go straight home. I fight the urge to leave, reasoning that Dad would text me to come home if there was bad news.

‘We need a lead article, Will.’ Cindy taps her pen on her desk. ‘Can’t you pad out the info you’ve got?’

‘Pad it out?’ Will glowers at Cindy. He’s perched on the back of his chair like the king of the vultures. The whole room knows there’s no way he’s turning anything in without tough facts, hard evidence and tight prose.