We rarely exchanged a word. Maybe ‘Is your dad around?’ or ‘Mum’s made cookies if you want any.’
But the atmosphere crackled with unspoken thoughts. It was as though the air were thin, empty, until he was there, when it became hot and heavy, ripe with anticipation. Anticipating what, I daren’t consider. I drank in every glance, each time he brushed past me to reach for a glass or when he sat at the opposite corner to me at the dinner table. And while I could barely eat in his presence – thank goodness I had the excuse of exam stress, or Mum would have panicked about me developing food issues – Ihungeredfor more of him, while at the same time feeling scared witless at the very thought.
He was my foster sibling. It went without saying that there were very firm boundaries that must never be crossed. So I dealt with my growing obsession by convincing myself that it would forever remain in my head, where it was safe. A silly teenage thing that no one, least of all Jonah, would ever suspect, and if he did, he’d be as disgusted and horrified as everyone else, so I didn’t have to stress about the consequences.
It didn’t stop me from dreaming about him, though.
Or keep me out of the kitchen.
So, on that April night, when the air was muggy, charged with a potential storm brewing, after spending hours twisting up in my duvet, stressing about my appalling lack of revision, pointlessly berating myself with all the reasons not to like Jonah, I eventually gave up and went downstairs to fetch a drink and some painkillers for the headache compressing my skull.
It was two in the morning. I could argue that it never crossed my mind that anyone would be up and about, so there was noneed to pull a hoodie on over my vest top and pyjama shorts, or bother with a bra. But if that was true, there was also no need for me to brush my hair or check the mirror for new spots.
I slipped down the two flights of stairs and into the dining room, where we kept the medication locked in a filing cabinet as per fostering rules, the key hidden behind Dad’s favourite Robert Ludlum novel on the bookcase.
Two paracetamols in hand, I padded into the kitchen and navigated filling a glass of water in the dark, resisting the twinge of disappointment that the rest of the house was silent. Not ready to return to bed, I decided to step outside to finish my drink, hoping that the night air might help clear my head and cool my fevered heart.
I wandered along the side of the house to the wooden chairs on the far side of the patio, the slabs ice-cold against the soles of my feet. The only light source was a scattering of stars and sliver of moon above the roofline. I was about to sit down, when a slight movement made me jerk around to find a darker patch of shadows filling one of the other chairs.
I pressed a hand against my thumping heart, eyes adapting to the darkness as Jonah shifted again, the cigarette he drew to his mouth illuminating an apologetic smile. He was lounging back in one chair, his feet propped up on another.
‘I scared you. Sorry.’ A stream of smoke accompanied his words.
I was the type of girl who considered smoking to be a disgusting waste of money, scorning those who might consider it to be cool, let alone sexy.
But standing there, shivering in the darkness, a few paces away from this wild-looking boy, all angles, shadows and unknown dangers, who lived by his own rulebook – one that I hadn’t read, and couldn’t hope to understand – I felt bewitched.Consumed. Like if I took one step closer, it would change everything.
‘I didn’t expect anyone else to be out here.’
He glanced at the watch that my parents had bought him. ‘Understandable.’
‘I couldn’t sleep. Thought fresh air might help.’
‘Here.’ He removed his feet from the chair, pushing it a foot or so closer to me in the same movement.
‘Thanks.’ I gingerly sat down, pulling my knees up and wrapping my arms around them as I cursed myself for not putting on something warmer – somethingsturdierthan the flimsy, faded cotton that hung loosely around my modest chest.
Jonah took another puff and then stubbed out the butt on a chipped plate that my parents had designated a makeshift ashtray, despite the strict rule that there was no smoking in the house.
‘Exams?’ he asked, eyes golden as they reflected the moonlight. I looked for any hint of disdain for the girl losing sleep over something so trivial but couldn’t spot it.
‘Partly.’ I grimaced. ‘Revision isn’t exactly going well.’
‘Does that explain all the snacks? Stress eating.’
My brain scrambled at the confirmation that he’d noticed my frequent trips to the kitchen.Of course he had. Jonah noticed everything.
I wished again for my sweatshirt.
‘Getting up and walking about for a couple of minutes helps get your brain working.’ I shrugged, relieved that my voice sounded impossibly calm. ‘What’s your excuse for being up? Are you worried about how your exams will go?’
He flashed a grin that disappeared so quickly I could have imagined it, if my bones hadn’t instantly disintegrated into mush.
‘I know full well how my exams are going to go. The only question is quite how spectacularly I’ll fail them. I’m wasting no time stressing about that.’
I didn’t offer any platitudes about how there was still time, or you never knew what might happen if you tried. I’d learned not to underestimate the impact of years of trauma followed by the monumental upheaval of being plonked in a strange house, the future a gaping black hole over which you had virtually no control. I found a stupid crush distracting. How anyone was supposed to care about physics or history while facing genuine problems like whether the court would send them home or if their mum was back on hard drugs was beyond me.
‘I guess exams aren’t really a priority right now.’
