The Boy from France (17 page)

I’m too tired to argue and I know it would be hopeless. It’s just not fair. I turn away from him, sulking. Why act like an adult if you’re not being treated like one?

Eventually, I ask, ‘Will I at least get to say goodbye to Xavier?’

‘I’m sure you can have a few minutes with him when he comes to get his things.’

‘A few minutes?’

‘Yes, Vix. Leave it for now, will you? There are other, more important things we need to talk about.’

At this moment, nothing feels more important than sorting things out with Xavier. I’m terrified that he hates me and, what would be worse, certain that I’ve delivered him straight
into Manon’s clutches. If only he had a damn phone with him, so I could at least text him. I don’t even know where he’s staying. I sigh. ‘Like what?’

‘Like the future.’ He sounds grave. ‘Things really are going to have to change, love. We can’t all carry on like this any more. Whether your mum likes it or not, when she
comes out of hospital we’re going to have to get some proper outside help in. Properly qualified nursing care. For your benefit, as much as hers. We’ve discussed it before, but
she’s been very resistant. And if there’s any way we are going to avoid moving, we need to make some modifications to the house too – hoists and stairlifts and things. We
can’t risk another accident like this one.’

I nod. I can’t cope with the thought of change right now. I certainly can’t deal with the idea – however remote – of leaving Paradise Avenue and my friends, maybe even
leaving Camden. Saying that aloud, though, would sound selfish. Instead I say, ‘Mum is really going to hate that.’

‘I know she is, love. She’s as stubborn as you are. Funny that, eh? But needs must.’

We sit, silently, lost in our own thoughts, for the rest of the journey.

The house seems eerily empty and quiet without Mum or Xavier. It makes me want to switch on all the lights and put the radio or TV on in every room for company. Dad gets some Indian food
delivered for dinner, but it’s a waste because we can only pick at it. I go to bed early, exhausted, my ankle still throbbing (it’s sprained), first texting Rosie and Sky to let them
know Mum is OK. I can’t stay awake long enough to see if they reply.

In the morning I have messages from both of them – sweet, reassuring messages. Sky says her room is my room, whenever I want it. Rosie asks if she can come round to see me today. I
don’t even ask Dad if it’s OK; I just tell her yes, come as soon you can.

She arrives soon after lunch and I take her straight up to my bedroom. We talk through Mum’s accident and I tell her how awful I feel that I left Xavier alone with her, even though I had
no idea she would fall. I admit I probably haven’t been completely honest about how sick Mum is. Rosie tells me I’m silly; she and Sky would have helped more, if only they’d
known. She says they’re going to look out for me more from now on and, if I’m ever not coping, I should say. I try to change the subject; this sort of attention embarrasses me. And,
anyway, I need to know about Manon and Xavier.

‘So what happened after I went off in the ambulance? With Xavier and Manon?’

‘Nothing. Xavier came back to ours, and my mum called Miss Long and she came to pick him up about an hour later. I think he went to stay with one of his friends last night.’

‘Oh, so he didn’t stay with you?’ That’s good. At least he wasn’t with Manon all evening. ‘Was he OK?’

‘He was pretty shaken up at first, really quiet, but he was fine after a while. Actually, he was really worried about your mum, and you. My mum spoke to your dad at the hospital and told
him everything was OK.’

‘That’s nice of him. And what about Manon? Were they . . . together when they were round at your house?’

‘Together? No! Don’t be silly.’

‘It’s just, when I left, they were all over each other and it looked like . . . And he was so angry with me.’

‘God, Vix, give Xavier some credit. He’s with you. He really likes you. He’s not going to get with Manon in the space of five minutes, especially when your mum’s just
been rushed to hospital in an ambulance. I can’t believe you even thought that.’

Looking at it like that, I suppose she’s right. No decent guy would do that, and Xavier is a decent guy. I feel stupid and disloyal for jumping to conclusions. ‘Yeah, I guess. But it
wouldn’t stop Manon, would it? We already know she’s a nasty, amoral cow.’

Rosie raises her eyebrows. She knows it’s not like me to be so mean or bitchy about anyone. To tell the truth, I’m quite shocked myself at how much hatred and anger I feel towards
Manon. ‘Hmm,’ she says, clearly deciding that in the circumstances she won’t comment on it. ‘Listen to me, Vix. Xavier doesn’t want to be with Manon. I saw what
happened. He just needed to talk to someone in French, to get stuff off his chest, and she just happened to be there. That’s all.’

‘Do you really think so?’

‘Yeah. Imagine if it was the other way round. If you were really shocked and upset about something really traumatic that had just happened, would you want to have to translate all your
feelings into French before you got it off your chest? I know I wouldn’t. You’d just want to let it out to the first English person you saw.’

‘True, I guess. So what did Manon say about it all? About Xavier? I’m sure she wasn’t that sensitive.’

‘Well . . . she seemed pretty smug right afterwards – like she thought he was in to her – but, to be honest, I don’t think he’s spoken to her since he left last
night. She hasn’t mentioned anything to me – and she would have done. And, think about it: if he won’t be staying on the street any more, she’s not even going to see much of
him now, is she? So don’t worry.’

‘I know I shouldn’t. But I can’t help it.’ I look down at the floor, ashamed. I hate myself for worrying about Xavier, about whether he still wants to be with me, when
the only person I should be worrying about is Mum. God, I must be the most self-centred, horrible person in the world.

‘Of course you can’t. Especially after what she did to you at school. Do you still want me to confront her about the gossip? Do you still want to get her back? With everything
that’s happened, it sort of got forgotten. But I’m up for it, if you are.’

‘No point,’ I say, without even having to think about it. Suddenly, much as I dislike her, what Manon did to me seems like ancient news. ‘I don’t care. Say something if
you want. Don’t if you don’t. Getting revenge on her doesn’t seem all that important any more.’

Rosie chews her lip. ‘We’ll see. I’ve got to live with her for almost another week, remember. I might do something, I might not. She already knows I’m pissed off with her
and, whatever happens, I’m not going to hang out with her from now on. No more coffees or market trips.’

‘OK.’

Rosie hugs me. ‘I’m really sorry I didn’t see what she was like when she first came here. I should have listened to you. I guess I got carried away with the whole French style
thing.’

‘S’OK.’

‘Just don’t stress about Manon. She’s the least of your worries.’

I wish she wasn’t right.

Dad takes me to see Mum for a couple of hours in the afternoon. She tries to put on a brave face for us but I can tell she’s really down about what’s happened, and about being stuck
in hospital. I don’t know how to make her feel better. It’s not really a grapes and ‘get well soon’ situation. She’s not going to get well – not properly anyway
– and she hates grapes, unless they’re crushed and alcoholic and come in a bottle, and wine doesn’t mix too well with her medication. Still she seems happy to see me.

At last, in the early evening, Xavier comes around to pack up his belongings and take them to his new exchange family’s house. I’m too nervous to let him in, so I stay upstairs in my
room while Dad does it. I hear voices – too many voices – and then the stomping of too many feet up the stairs. He must have brought his French friend along, and maybe the English host
boy as well. I’m not going to get any time alone with him, am I? Why couldn’t the others have waited downstairs? Can’t Xavier pack his rucksack on his own? He doesn’t have
that much stuff! Or is he avoiding me deliberately? I loiter in my bedroom, wondering whether I should come out and make my presence known, or pretend I’m not even home. Procrastinating, I
lie on my bed, listening while drawers are opened and shut, hearing laughter and chatter, but finding it impossible to make out what anyone is saying. Then I hear the spare-room door click shut and
there are heavy footsteps on the stairs again.

He’s gone; I’m too late. That’s it, then. Gutted, I curl up on my bed and curse myself for mucking everything up, and for being a coward and missing my last proper chance to
speak to him. I feel like crying, but I can’t.

Unexpectedly, there’s a knock on my door. It makes me jump and I swing up from my bed so fast that I feel light-headed. ‘Er, come in,’ I say, in a high-pitched, wimpy voice,
that doesn’t sound like me.

Xavier peers around the door. The sight of him makes my heart beat furiously. ‘Veecks, I ’ave come to say
au revoir
,’ he says. He seems off with me, not cold exactly,
but cool, and I can’t tell if it’s because he’s still angry or because people are waiting for him.

‘You can come in properly, if you like,’ I say, pulling the door open wide for him. I smile, hoping that if I’m friendly he’ll warm up too. ‘We can have a
chat.’

It doesn’t work. He stays put by the door, looking behind him. ‘Zair is not time. I am sorry. I must go now.’

‘Oh. That’s a shame. I wanted to talk to you about yesterday. I wanted to say sorry.’

He appears uncomfortable. ‘It eez OK. But I must go.’

‘OK, I understand.’ I’m not sure if I should walk towards him, or stay inside my room. I take a step forward, but he doesn’t move.

‘Bye, Veecks,’ he says, raising his hand in a wave. ‘I’ll see you soon.’ He doesn’t touch me or even give me two kisses on my cheeks. Complete strangers do
that in France!

I don’t manage to finish saying the word ‘goodbye’ before he turns around and heads back down the stairs. I feel horrible: flat, empty and miserable. It’s hard to believe
that just a couple of days ago our lips were virtually glued together and that I felt closer to him than I’ve ever felt to anyone. I suppose I should be grateful that he hasn’t broken
up with me.

At least, I don’t think he has. Has he?

’m standing at the entrance to the school hall with my friends. It’s decked out in tinsel and disco
lights, with French flags and posters dotted about in an attempt to create a ‘French theme’ for the end of exchange party – but it still looks just like a school hall. I’m
sure Sky’s cool DJ sister Katie, who is used to playing trendy clubs and music festivals, isn’t impressed. It was a real coup for the school to book her, and she’s even doing it
for free, just to ‘support the local community’ (and only because the school agreed Sky could come too). I’m so glad Sky is here; it wouldn’t be the same without the three
of us together. She and Rosie both came round to my house earlier, to try to help take my mind off Mum and Xavier and to get me in a party mood. We had a mini pre-party while we got dressed and did
our make-up, playing music and dancing around my bedroom. It really did help.

I’ll admit that, several times this week, I decided I wasn’t even going to go to the party, but Rosie refused to let me back out. She said Mum would hate me to miss out on something
fun just because she was in hospital, and it was pretty clear that the gossip about me at school has died down entirely since people heard about her accident, so I shouldn’t worry about that,
either. She also said she might possibly have let it slip – quietly and strategically (i.e. to Lucy Reed and a few others) – that Manon wasn’t to be trusted, which helped my
cause. As for Xavier, both Rosie and Sky said that I’d regret forfeiting my last chance to see him and, hopefully, smooth things over before he goes home. They’re right, I guess. So
here I am.

Rosie, Sky and I walk into the hall together, arm in arm. I’m trying to feel as confident as I must look, even though underneath I’m terrified. The room is already half full with
girls from my year at school and boys from our local ‘brother’ school, plus their exchange students. There’s no sign of Xavier yet, or Manon. I wonder if they’ll arrive
together. That would be horrible. But, at least, nobody gives me a funny look or turns away to whisper, so Rosie must be right: the wave of gossiping really has passed for good. I relax a little.
Rosie and Sky have told me I look good. I’m wearing my favourite black skinny jeans and a vintage lace top that I found in the market. Sky has on some luminous leggings and a tight jersey
tunic, and Rosie is parading about in a geometric print shift dress from the nineteen-sixties, which she bought in one of the charity shops on the high street. ‘It was only five
pounds,’ she keeps saying, when anyone compliments her on it. It’s getting a bit boring now.