‘Hi, Arthur. How’s it going?’
‘Now that would depend on what you mean by “it”,’ he replied, pointing a finger at me as though he’d made a genius comeback.
I resumed chopping my tomato, but one glance at his face showed that he was genuinely waiting for me to clarify the question. ‘Um, I just meant your life in general. Like, how are you? How’s work, any other stuff going on at the moment?’
‘Right. Okay! Of course. Work is excellent, thank you. As for other stuff, I trounced Elliot at air hockey this morning, but I’ve not played Isaac and he’s the reigning champ, so I don’t want to count my chickens. Having said that, I’m top of the leader board for darts, despite a slight thumb injury thanks to a lapse of concentration by an emotional pallbearer. Now table tennis, hmm, that’s another story…’
It took maybe two minutes for me to realise that, when it came to Arthur at least, Mum might have a point.
‘Have you been out anywhere lately?’ I asked, diving in when he paused to take a breath. ‘I’ve no idea where’s good to hang out these days.’
Arthur blinked as though I’d asked him to describe his favourite restaurant on the moon. He scratched his head, although it would have been hard to reach through the mass of ginger curls, and frowned. ‘There’s a funeral director’s conference next month, but I don’t suppose that would interest you. Apart from that I mostly go grave hunting.’
‘Go where?’ I’d been about to take a bite of my sandwich, but dropped it back on the plate, sure that whatever Arthur said next would put me off my lunch.
‘You know, visiting graveyards and looking for the memorials of significant people.’
‘Right. Like famous people?’
Arthur pulled a face. He was only a couple of inches taller than me, and in his baggy shirt and even bigger cotton trousers, he looked about twelve.
‘People who should be famous, in my opinion. For example.’ He took a step closer, eyes lighting up, and I steeled myself for another lecture. ‘You probably haven’t heard of Elspeth Tickle, born no more than six miles from here, in Middlebeck. When her husband fell in a ditch and died the day her fifteenth child was born, she took on running the farm single handed. Everyone was certain she would fail, but fail she did not. Instead, she not only became the biggest asparagus grower in the county, she bred not one buttwonew breeds of turkey, the first being the notable—’
The front door opened and Isaac called down the hallway, ‘Hey! I forgot my phone charger. Has anyone seen it?’
‘I’d better help him look,’ I said, taking my lunch with me.
* * *
For the rest of the day I stayed in my room, a notebook on my lap as I tried to figure out a moving out plan. I’d done my best to shove all the ugly memories and feelings that seeing Elliot had churned up back down into my subconscious, but my horrible dreams and the way my breath jammed in my throat every time I ventured down the stairs showed how closely they hovered below the surface.
I had to get out of there.
There were several things standing in the way of that.
Firstly, my new job was in Houghton.
If I was going to live somewhere else, I needed money, so I needed that job. The chances of anywhere else offering me the generous hours and pay that my parents provided in the role they’d invented for me were a solid zero per cent.
Secondly, there were about a hundred other houses in the entire village, precisely one of which was currently available to rent: a three-bedroom house costing a thousand pounds a month, which for me might as well be a million, thanks to the Debt Swamp.
Thirdly, to rent a house you needed things like references and a deposit or at least a decent credit rating and I had none of those thanks to living like a human wreck for most of my adult life.
Fourthly, even if I did manage to find a rot-infested cubbyhole that someone decided to rent to me out of the kindness of their own heart, how could I possibly explain to my family that I was leaving a perfectly nice cottage, with family and old friends, for somewhere a zillion times worse?
I went round and round, poring over job sites and estate agents. Quite honestly, by the end of it I felt grateful to have a home at all. Even if it did threaten to send me spinning back into the pit of shame, at least I’d have hot water and a lovely kitchen to host my nervous breakdown.
You could tell someone. Isaac, or your parents.
It would probably help.
The soft, insistent voice that sounded a bit like my mother murmured in my head.
No.I can’t. It’s hard enough living with myself whenIknow what I’ve done. How will I be able to handle knowing that every time they look at me they see the person who helped ruin Elliot’s life? Or that, even worse, I kept it to myself all this time because of a vow? I’m not brave enough for that.
My conclusion at the end of an afternoon spent scheming and plotting and drowning in self-loathing was simple.
I’d ask Isaac if I could pick up any wedding work. It had the double benefit of keeping me out of the house as well as earning more. I’d save pennies wherever I could and, in the meantime, I’d do what I’d been doing for the past ten years: stick on a smile and pretend to be fine. Oh, and I’d pray that Seb would hurry up and re-find himself, so this would all be over.
