There’s less talk this year with the weight of responsibility sitting between us — the knowledge that I’m pregnant and that I’ve not told my mum. Gran can’t understand what’s stopping me now the decision’s been made, but she’s old, she’s forgotten what the future looks like when you’re fifteen. Who she is depends on things that have already happened. Who I am depends on what lies ahead. All the things I thought would happen have vanished — just like that — and without them I’m not so sure who I am any more. I need to get a bit more me going on before I face my family.
Mum drops us back at Cedarfields before going to get some petrol, so I have time to have a cup of tea with Gran before I say goodbye. I’m paying zero attention to my surroundings as I walk along the corridor to reception.
“Hannah?” There’s a tap on my shoulder and I turn around. Aaron Tyler. What’s he doing here?
“Hey, Ty,” I say, tucking a strand of hair behind my ear. There are lots of stray bits of hair since I was chasing Lolly around the garden and had to burrow under a hedge to catch her. Why did I have to bump into someone here? Why him? We haven’t spoken since Rex’s party.
“Could you maybe just call me Aaron?”
Crap. I’ve been calling him by the wrong name. I just assumed he was a surname-nickname guy.
“Yeah,” I say and sort of edge sideways, hoping he’ll get the hint. I don’t want to talk — I look a mess in this skanky old hoodie and I bet Mum’s already filled up and got back to the car park.
“How come you’re here?” he asks, walking along the corridor so that I can’t escape him. I keep the pace up.
“Visiting my gran.”
“Yeah?”
“You?”
“Same. Visiting.” He looks like he doesn’t want to talk about it.
God, this is a rubbish conversation. Why did he even stop to talk to me? We walk in silence until we reach the doors.
“Hey, look,” he says, almost touching my arm.
“My mum’ll be waiting,” I say, hoping he’ll hurry up.
“I just wanted to tell you something. About the other night…”
“Can you forget what you saw? It was all a big mistake.”
He looks confused and then nods. “The Tyrone thing. Right.”
It’s my turn not to understand. Wasn’t that what he was talking about?
“I meant you and me.”
Great. So this is why he stopped me — to embarrass me on every level possible.
“I told you before. It. Doesn’t. Matter.” I start to open the door, but he holds it shut against me. I don’t like him doing that, but the action puzzles me. It doesn’t seem very Aaron-Tyler-teacher’s-son-ish.
“Listen to me, please,” he says, in a very serious voice. It’s not threatening or anything… but it makes you listen.
I cross my arms and wait.
“I wanted to explain something.” He sighs, sort of to himself. “Look, it’s not that I wouldn’t… you’re really pretty…”
I snort.
“Less so when you do that.”
I’m so surprised that I almost snort again. Almost. I stop myself because even though I’m pregnant, and even though I know he’s not interested, I still care what he thinks.
“I really like you. Not a jump-your-bones variety of liking. I just think you’re interesting.”
Huh?
“I mean… wow, I’m not doing this very well, am I?”
“No.” I am officially lost.
“I’m not up for anything romantic right now — with girls, or boys, either, for the record.”
“Glad we got that cleared up,” I say. Gideon will be disappointed — he’s convinced Aaron’s a closet. He hasn’t shut up about him since Rex’s party. In French he declared that shagging me was all part of being in denial. I didn’t correct him on the facts.
“But I do want to know you better, Hannah. You seem…” He’s lost for a moment, then finds what he’s looking for.
On cue my mum runs out of patience and beeps the horn.
Mum is full of questions on the drive home. All of them are about “that good-looking boy” she saw me talking to.
“If I’d realized you were talking to him, I wouldn’t have sounded the horn. I thought you were gossiping with one of the nurses.”
“He’s just a boy from school, Mum,” I say, bored of this conversation.
“He’s cute,” she says.
“You think?”
“You’re telling me that you don’t?” She obviously doesn’t believe a word I’m saying so I stay silent. Instead I think about what he said as he opened the door for me, the cold wind ruffling his hair as he looked at me.
You seem worth knowing.
If he’d said that to me at school, or in the park I’d have come out with something sarky in response. But standing at the entrance to Cedarfields, I hadn’t felt like being that person.
I wonder if the person Aaron saw just now is the person he sees at school.
FRIDAY 13TH NOVEMBER
AARON
Neville is unhappy with the state of play because, for the first time in two months, it looks like I might actually win.
“We’ll have to learn another game,” he grunts as he sweeps the cards off the table and starts shuffling them. His knuckles might be the size of golf balls and his skin mottled and knotted with veins, but the cards dance in his fingers like a black and red lightshow. “Here,” he hands me the pack, “you shuffle.”
I stack it so badly that half the cards splash to the floor. Once I’ve collected them I sit up to see Neville failing to hide a satisfied smile. He holds out his hand and waggles his fingers, taking the deck back and showing me how to shuffle them properly.
It’s long after dinner, but we’re sitting in the dining-room with the lights off, apart from the lamp by our table, and we’re all alone. The door’s open and I can hear the television in the opposite room, can see the echo of coloured light on the doorframe.
I look up as someone walks past. It’s Hannah.
She usually visits on Sundays. After Bonfire night I got a call from Neville — the first ever — asking me to come visit him on Sunday. He didn’t say why and when I got there, I got the usual underwhelming welcome and all we did was play cards next to this window and argue about stuff on the news. No different to usual. Hannah and her gran were walking in the grounds and Neville pointed her out to me, asking me if I liked the look of her. I told him we went to the same school and he told me that her gran was one of the better ones. Praise indeed.
I watch Neville’s hands as he cuts the pack.
I’m the only person who visits him. Even so, when I started popping in on my round of tea-time chats, he didn’t seem to want me around. He still doesn’t. But after a grunted “You again?” we hang out. We talk. Not about much in particular, but he starts to relax and tells me things, teaches me.
“You paying attention?” he says, snapping me back out of it.
“No,” I confess.
“Too busy thinking about your girlfriend?” He looks at me beneath bushy white brows. There’s nothing wrong with his eyesight, particularly where girls are concerned, so I’m not surprised he noticed Hannah walk past.
“I’ve told you before, she’s not my girlfriend.”
“You’re an idiot not to try. She’s got that look to her.” I don’t say anything because I don’t want to encourage him but he carries on anyway. “You can tell she knows what she’s doing.”