Because of Her Page 12

  “Might even take you for a cappuccino in town afterwards if you’re very good.” Eden looked at me long enough to make the skin on my arms goosebump briefly. “Tomorrow’s Saturday. It can’t be all work and no play, can it?”

  “Cappuccino. Perfect.”

  Inability to speak more than two words at a time. Not good.

  “I’m so excited, aren’t you?” Eden rubbed her hands together.

  “Yeah, totally,” I said.

  And I was.

  Excited and terrified at the same time.

  Chapter Twenty-two

  Serendipity is a funny thing, isn’t it?

  I’d felt guilty about not going to see Amy. Or rather, I’d felt guilty about not being that bothered about not being able to see Amy. But now here was a twist of fortune, that meant at the very time I should have been going on a train to see Amy—if I’d been allowed—I’d be spending the entire day with Eden instead. And none of it was my fault, so I couldn’t feel guilty.

  Serendipity indeed.

  All the previous angst I’d had over Eden not apologizing for Gabby and Beth’s vitriol just floated away because she’d done one simple thing and had asked to come with me to fencing practice. All the hurt and anguish and torment that had been eating me up for nearly thirty-six hours after what Gabby and Beth had said to me just disappeared, as if by magic, purely because Eden Palmer wanted to travel to school with me.

  Not with Greg or Rob, or anyone else.

  Me.

  And, despite my assurance to myself that I wouldn’t let Amy down by text, I still ended up sending her the briefest of messages telling her I wasn’t visiting, after all.

  That, as you can imagine, went down like the proverbial lead balloon.

  Strangely though, I managed to shake off the hurtful things she’d said to me in her reply. Eden was coming to my house, and right now, that was all I could think about.

  She arrived just before ten the next morning. I’d already texted her directions from the nearest Tube station the previous night, telling her to look for the “ostentatious Georgian town house” down the road on the right-hand side with the equally pretentious BMW parked outside. Unsurprisingly, she found it straight away.

  I’d already been up over an hour when she arrived. I’d showered, scrubbed, and buffed as if my life depended on it and had fretted for an age over a pile of clothes, dithering over which ones I thought I’d look best in.

  Finally approaching satisfaction with my appearance, I gave my hair one last tweak, tugged at my top a bit, and went downstairs just in time to hear the doorbell ring. I jumped the last three steps as soon as I heard it, wanting to get the door before my mother—or worse, my father—got to it first, hoping to usher Eden back out before either one of them had the chance to talk to her.

  I opened the door to see Eden standing, looking cutely flustered, on our doorstep. “Hi.”

  “Hi.”

  She looked amazing. She was wearing a khaki military-style coat, the kind which I would have loved myself, with the collar turned up, making her look even hotter than she normally did. Her hair was piled up on her head, just how I love it, and she’d darkened her eyes, so they appeared more vivid than normal. There was a hint of a new perfume, too. I had no idea what it was, but it smelled absolutely fabulous.

  “Let’s get out of here, shall we?” I said, grabbing my keys.

  “What about your kit?” Eden asked, motioning towards my empty hands.

  “Shit. Wait there.” I entered the house again, muttering under my breath as I searched the hallway for my bag, which contained my fencing outfit.

  “Are you off?” My mother’s head appeared, as if by magic, in the lounge doorway.

  “If I ever find my sodding bag, yes,” I mumbled from deep inside the closet under the stairs.

  “Has your friend arrived yet?” my mother asked.

  “Yup. Where the hell is it?”

  “Where is she?”

  “Outside. Mum, have you seen my kit bag?”

  “You left her on the doorstep?” My mother came out from the lounge. “For goodness’ sake, Tabitha.”

  She put down the screwdriver that she’d been using to screw heaven only knows what in the lounge and opened the front door before I’d had a chance to free myself from inside the closet.

  “Please excuse my daughter’s manners,” she said to a surprised-looking Eden, who was still standing on the doorstep. “Come in.”

  My mother opened the door wider for Eden to enter, then shot me a look of disdain as I fell out of the closet, kit bag clutched in my hand.

  “I’m Tabitha’s mum. Mrs. Morton. Annie.” My mother extended her hand to Eden as my insides curled up at the politeness of it all.

  “Eden,” Eden said, sliding her eyes uncertainly towards me. “Uh, Palmer. Nice to meet you.”

  “Likewise.” A saccharine smile that only my mother could do. “And you two go to Queen Victoria’s together, do you?”

  “Mm,” Eden said. “We do, yes. And we do fencing together, too.”

  I thought that was as embarrassing as it would get, but no. Right on cue, after hearing our voices, my father decided to join in the stilted conversation, no doubt lured from his office upstairs by the sound of Eden’s quiet, thoughtful, polite voice downstairs.

  “I thought I heard voices,” he said predictably, coming down the stairs, smiling broadly. “I’m Tabitha’s father, David.” Again, he extended his hand, while I died inside, just a little bit more. If that were even possible.

  “Eden. Nice to meet you.” Eden shook his hand.

  “And you’re off fencing this morning, then?” he asked, stating the obvious.

  “Yup,” I mumbled sullenly, just wanting to get the hell out of the house. “And we’re late, so we better go.”

  “And what sort of fencer are you, Eden?” my father asked, leaning against the banister, his hands in his trouser pockets, completely ignoring me. “Cautious? Do or die?”

  “Well, a bit more cautious than Tabs.” Eden laughed. “She’s the do-or-die girl of the group.” She looked over and caught my eye, making us both smile. “I take the more patient approach.”

  “So patient you busted my knee?” I teased.

  We held eyes.

  “You’re just more scaredy than I am,” Eden said.

  “Scaredy, huh?”

  “Yuh-huh. Scaredy.”

  “You’re so going to regret saying that later.”

  “Yeah?”

  “Yeah. You know it.” I poked my tongue out at her.

  We looked at each other awhile, Eden obviously staring me out. I caved first, grinning.

  “Sounds like a challenge,” my father finally said, looking slowly from me to Eden and back again.

  “We better go,” I said again, reaching down and picking up my kit bag. “Dunno what time I’ll be back. Later this afternoon, I guess.”

  Finally we were outside, away from my parents and their stuffy greetings and extended hands.

  “Well, that was my parents.” I groaned as we walked away from the house and towards the Tube station. “Sorry about that.”

  “They seemed nice,” Eden said, bumping my shoulder. “Stop stressing. You haven’t met mine yet.”

  Yet?

  “Does that mean I will some day?” I asked, suddenly feeling bold.

  “Play your cards right, you will,” Eden said, entering the station and pulling her Travelcard from her pocket. “Right,” she said, “next train will get us to school for ten forty-five. And then, Tabby Morton, I’m going to take you straight to the gym and show you just who’s the scaredy-cat around here.”

  Serendipity.

  Hell, yes.

  Chapter Twenty-three

  The Saturday of the fencing competition finally arrived with leaden skies full of rain. I lay sprawled in bed, in the early morning gloom of my room. Eyes closed, I listened to the wind howling outside, slamming the rain against my bedroom window, and felt proper, stoma
ch-churning nerves for the first time since I found out about the competition.

  The previous evening’s practice had gone as well as—if not better than—all the others, and the sense of optimism I’d had after all the other training sessions was still with me, despite my nerves. It was going to be okay. I had faith in my admittedly limited abilities, but it was only the National Schools Championships, not the Olympics.

  That’s what I kept telling myself, anyway.

  After listening to the rain for a bit longer, feeling strangely comforted by the sound of it outside, I showered and headed downstairs. I was greeted by the sight of Ed in his boxer shorts, sitting at the kitchen table. He was buttering a piece of toast with what looked like a pound of butter. I watched it ooze over the sides of the crusts and pool into a yellow gooey puddle on his plate. I immediately felt sick.

  “You’re up early,” I said, my throat feeling tight at the sight of the melted butter. I turned away and busied myself with the kettle so I didn’t have to see what he was shoving into his mouth.

  “Away game today. Against Harewood United.” Ed threw a look towards his football boots, waiting for him by the kitchen door. He blew on his drink, making the steam mask his face for a second. “Your comp today, isn’t it?”

  “Yup.”

  “Nervous?”

  “Bricking it.”

  “Good. No nerves means you don’t care about winning.”

  “Thanks for the sports psychology.”

  “You’re welcome.” Ed looked at me over the top of his mug. “Mum and Dad are pleased you’ve found a hobby, you know.”

  I reached up and took a mug from the cupboard, then turned to face him.

  “Are they?”

  “Mm-hmm. I heard them talking the other night, just after you came home from one of your practice sessions,” Ed said. “They said they thought your school could be the making of you, or words to that effect.”

  “Ha!” I snorted. “They’re just pleased that all the money they’re spending on sending me there seems to be rubbing off.”

  I spooned coffee granules into my mug and poured boiling water onto them.

  “I told Dad I liked school the other day,” I said, stirring my coffee and glancing over to Ed. “The look of relief on his face was so obvious, it was hilarious.”

  “They’re relieved you’re actually spending time at school rather than skipping classes all the time, like you used to,” Ed said. He thought for a moment. “You do seem calmer, too. Since we moved, I mean. I thought you’d kick off big time and give them so much hell they’d put you on the first train back up North.”

  “Wanna hear a secret?” I sat down opposite him and sipped at my coffee. “That was my plan at first.”

  “Yours and Amy’s plan, you mean?” Ed winked.

  “You’re not as daft as you look, are you?” I swivelled round in my chair as my phone buzzed and vibrated across the kitchen unit.

  Eden? Please let it be Eden.

  It was Amy.

  Nervous? it said. There were five kisses after it.

  I typed out a quick reply to her, something along the lines of, Terrified. Can’t eat breakfast, and put a sad face plus five kisses back to her. I put my phone back on the table. Ed was watching me with amusement.

  “Amy,” I said, my face getting warm. I picked up my phone and waggled it at him.

  “Sure,” Ed said knowingly. “’Cos you always leap up like that for Amy’s texts, don’t you?” He got up from the table before I could answer. “Good luck later, yeah?” he said, ruffling my hair as he brushed past me and shuffled off into the hallway.

  Busted.

  To my surprise, I did manage to force down two pieces of toast for my breakfast. I made it to school twenty minutes before the minibus was due to leave, having finally shaken my parents off from their good wishes in the hallway, their calls of Good luck! following me down the road as I hastened to the Tube station.

  Only Greg, Rob, and a year-eleven girl, Freya, were at school when I arrived. The rain hadn’t stopped for the entire journey to school; the Tube had filled and emptied with people sporting dripping coats and umbrellas, their faces grey and washed out, fed up with the weather. My own coat was soaked from the ten-minute walk from Sloane Square station to Queen Victoria’s, the part of my hair that had been exposed to the driving rain now splattered untidily across my forehead.

  “There are things called umbrellas, you know,” Greg called out as I rounded the corner of the school car park, and he caught sight of me.

  “There are things called boots-up-arses, too,” I muttered, coming to stand under the shelter of the school entrance. I pulled my hood down and ruffled up my hair with both hands, making it stick up in all directions.

  “You’re going to stink like a wet dog all the way up to Manchester on the minibus,” Greg said. He sniffed and pulled a face.

  “You do know how to make a girl feel good, don’t you?” I said, wiping the droplets of rain from my arms and flicking them at him. “Remind me why you don’t have a girlfriend again.”

  I glanced up to see Eden hurrying across the car park, umbrella battling against the wind.

  “See, Eden has an umbrella,” Greg leant over and whispered in my ear. “You so need to have her as your girlfriend, let her show you how things are done.”

  “Shut it.”

  “Hi.” Eden slowed as she approached us. She looked at me from under her umbrella. “Hey,” she said softly, this time directly to me.

  “Hey.” We looked at each other for a while before Eden looked away again, smiling at the others.

  “Bloody awful weather, huh?” Greg said as Eden came to stand under the shelter with us.

  “At least we’ll be indoors all day, though,” Eden said, shaking her umbrella out.

  I just smiled. What I really wanted to do was ask her if I could sit next to her on the minibus for the drive up North. But, thinking that would make me sound as if I was about five and we were going on a school trip to the zoo, I stayed quiet. Instead, I listened as Rob and Greg discussed some tactic that Rob had been working on all week and gazed out across the car park, willing the minibus to hurry up because I was cold.

  “How’re you?” Eden spoke next to me.

  “Yeah, good,” I said. “You?”

  “Nervous,” she said. “You?”

  “Terrified,” I admitted. “I don’t know what I’m more nervous about—the competition, or having to wear those breeches.”

  Eden laughed. Her face lit up. “Ah, the lovely, lovely breeches. You’ve managed to get away without wearing them before now, haven’t you?”

  “Do you think they’ll think less of us if we wear our sweats?”

  “And let the whole school down?” Eden had a look of mock horror on her face. “Tabby Morton, how could you even think that?”

  She turned to look as the minibus made its way into the car park and drove towards us, swinging around to come to a stop parallel to the shelter. Just in the nick of time, Liam, another boy from the team, arrived behind the minibus, cycling into the car park. He apologized to Rob as he slammed his bike into the nearest rack.

  While Rob and Greg busied themselves loading kit bags and foils onto the minibus, I stood awkwardly with Eden and Freya, hoping and praying that Freya wouldn’t do what I didn’t have the nerve to do and ask Eden to sit next to her.

  She didn’t.

  Instead, when she saw Liam return from locking his bike, her face lit up and she immediately left us, going straight over to him. I saw her say something to him and Liam nod in return before they both climbed up the steps into the minibus.

  “I think Freya fancies him,” Eden said, looking towards the minibus as the pair of them disappeared inside. “Probably been desperate to sit next to him.”

  “Mm,” I said, staring down at my shoes and not wanting to catch Eden’s eye. “Looks like you’re stuck with me, then.”

  “I’ll cope,” Eden said, smiling.

 
The journey up to Manchester was long and tedious, thanks to a combination of driving rain, heavy traffic, and roadworks on the motorway. The only thing that made it bearable, of course, was having Eden to myself through it all. With everyone else paired off on the minibus, and each couple deep in conversation, I had the luxury of being just about a foot away from Eden for the whole journey up. It was heaven, just having her to myself again for a few wonderful hours.

  “My parents, of course,” she said as the minibus crawled along behind a line of traffic, “would rather I’d done something that involved a musical instrument.” She grimaced. “My mother plays the cello,” she added. “I think she would have liked me to have learned it, too, but it wasn’t my thing.”

  “Well, my parents are stoked that I fence,” I said, looking out of the window opposite me towards the traffic alongside us, then back to Eden. “Although when I first told my father what I was doing, he kindly advised me that fencing requires skill and guile, of which you have neither, Tabitha…or words to that effect.”

  “No way!”

  “Yup. He’s not one to mess about.”

  “But he feels differently now?” Eden asked.

  “Apparently so, if his questioning me to death this morning about tactics was anything to go by.” I raised my eyes to heaven.

  We stayed silent for a bit after that, each of us either staring out of the window or fiddling with our phones. I sent a text to Libby while Eden had her head turned and was looking sideways out of the window, careful to shield the screen from her. I wrote: Sitting next to Eden on the minibus. Result! and grinned when a text from her came more or less straight back saying, I know. Greg told me. Put your hand on her leg…you know you want to.

  I looked down at Eden’s leg, just inches from mine. My hand itched to touch it. I tried to switch my thoughts off, thinking about anything other than Eden’s thigh, then sat on my hands when my brain refused to cooperate.

  Quit being an idiot, Tab.

  “I thought your father was nice,” Eden said, her mind presumably still on our previous conversation. “Very chatty.”

  “The one thing you should know about him,” I said, “is that he’s a crashing snob. I kinda think he was lured from his office by the sound of your nice accent the other day.” I smiled tightly. “He probably thinks if I hang out with you long enough, it’ll rub off on me.”