Never Close Your Eyes (29 page)

He shuddered. ‘Christ, that was good.'

Evie could feel the cold, hard wood digging into her coccyx. She wriggled slightly to make herself more comfortable. She half wanted him to move, but at the same time she couldn't bear the moment to end.

She wasn't quite sure how it had happened. One minute, it seemed, he was muttering something about a row with his ex and losing his mobile, the next he was pulling her dressing gown off and shagging her senseless on the kitchen table.

She remembered she'd been on the point of telling him about her painful, pointy boots and rumbling tummy outside the station. She wanted him to feel the full weight of what he'd done. She'd been intending to raise the subject of public phone boxes in the absence of mobiles, too.

Unfortunately, she'd opened her mouth and before she'd had time to utter a word, he'd launched into one of those snogs, his taxi-snog as she now thought of it. After that, her resolve had flown out of the window. And now she was feeling the full weight of him on her instead.

She ran her hands down his smooth, damp back and squeezed his bum. ‘I love you,' she whispered. It just popped out. She didn't regret it, though.

He pushed himself up on to his elbows, looked down at her and grinned. It wasn't quite what she'd expected, but it was a pleased grin. She liked the little creases at the side of his mouth when he smiled.

He rose slowly and she wiggled on to one side and sat up, her feet dangling over the edge of the table. There was a noise upstairs, like a door slamming. She pricked her ears, hoping it wasn't one of the children.

‘Quick, get your clothes on,' she said. He picked his boxers off the floor and climbed into them while she hopped off the table and pulled on her dressing gown. She stood at the kitchen door and listened again. Silence. It could have been the wind. She always left her bathroom window slightly open. She turned round and was surprised to see him peering in the fridge.

‘What is there to eat?' he asked, his face illuminated by the inside light. ‘I'm starving.' He pulled out a carton of eggs and some butter and put them on the worktop. ‘Think I'll have two.'

Her body felt warm and tingly. He was so at home! She wiped the table, got out the saucepan, wooden spoon, a plate, knife and fork and turned on the hob. She stood, waiting for him to come over and start cooking. She wasn't hungry herself.

He pulled out a chair and sat down. So he wanted her to make it for him, then. She felt a flash of irritation. Typical man. No wonder he was so thin. He'd probably been waited on by his ex and didn't know how to cook for himself. She'd have to sort that one out pronto.

She felt tired suddenly. She realised that it must be very late. It'd be hard getting the children up for school in the morning.

‘Who are you interviewing tomorrow?' she asked, melting the butter in the pan and stirring with the wooden spoon. She could just about see what she was doing, thanks to the glow from the downlighters.

‘Not sure yet,' he said, resting his elbows on the table. ‘I'll do a ringaround in the morning.'

Evie cracked two eggs into the saucepan and stirred. ‘Ringaround?' she asked. ‘How does that work, then?'

He scratched his head. ‘Oh, I chat with the agents, ask them if they've got any stories. If they're any good I'll tout them round.'

Evie added a little milk to the pan and stirred again. ‘How exciting! What sort of stories have you done recently?'

He cleared his throat. ‘I got a page lead on Maddy Cooper's secret IVF treatment in
Hot Telly
magazine.'

‘Maddy Cooper?'

‘She plays Tina in
Emergency
.'

‘Oh.' Evie didn't watch
Emergency
. ‘Tell me some of the other celebs you've interviewed. It must be such a glamorous job.'

He paused. He was obviously going through all the famous people he'd rubbed shoulders with. And she, as his girlfriend, would no doubt meet some of them one day!

‘Tommy Cruise, Helen Mirren, Jimmy McAvoy—'

‘James McAvoy?' she said. ‘Wow. I love him. What's he like in real life?'

‘Really nice guy,' Steve said. ‘Down to earth. I've met him quite a few times.'

‘What's his accent like?' said Evie, adding a little salt and pepper to the saucepan. ‘Is it really pronounced?'

‘His accent? Nah. He just sounds like you or me.'

Evie stopped stirring. ‘Really? I thought he was Scottish.' She took the pan off the hob.

‘Scottish?' he said. ‘Oh yeah. But you can't tell any more. They tend to lose the accent once they get famous.'

Evie buttered two pieces of toast, cut them in half, put the eggs on and passed the plate to him. She was pretty sure she'd read somewhere that James McAvoy sounded very Scottish. Maybe she'd got him muddled up with someone else.

She sat beside Steve while he wolfed down the eggs and polished off a big glass of milk. ‘Would you like some more toast?' she asked. He did seem very hungry.

He pushed back his chair and stretched. ‘Let's go to bed now.'

She frowned. ‘I don't know. Is that a good idea? You'll have to get up really early again, before the children wake.'

He leaned forward and put his hands over hers. They felt warm and reassuring. ‘They won't go in your bedroom, will they, surely? I mean, if I stay up there while you get them off to school?'

‘Oh.' She hadn't thought of that.

‘Then we can spend the day together,' he went on, giving her hands a squeeze. ‘Just you and me.'

‘But what about your work?'

He lifted her hand up, opened the fingers and kissed the palm gently. ‘Work can wait.'

She thought of the unfinished wedding dress in her bedroom and her book begging to be written.

‘Don't you want to?' he asked at last, a hurt expression on his face.

How unromantic of her.

‘Of course I do,' she replied.

Freya slammed the bathroom door shut. That'd show them.

It was one thing for Mum to have a new boyfriend, but it was completely out of order for her to bring him back here. It was obvious what they were up to. It was sick. She strode back into her bedroom and plonked down at the computer. She felt tears welling in her eyes.

i think mum's brought someone bak,
she wrote.
a bloke. i want to vomit.

yuk,
he said,
do u know who?

It was a thought.
maybe,
she replied.

She pondered that for a moment.
i just don't want to think of my mum having sex with anyone.

She turned that round in her head.
i know, well, i don't know but i guess.

u scared of sex?
he asked.

They chatted some more, about Chantelle and Gemma, mainly. And music. He was the easiest person to talk to. In the end she was so tired that she could hardly keep her eyes open.

got 2 go now,
she said at last.
night xx.

luv u, c u 2morrow
, Al wrote back.

She hugged her arms around her, rereading it a few times. Then she unplugged the cable that connected her mum's camera to the laptop and folded it up. She'd taken loads of pictures of herself smiling, making silly faces, pouting like a model. He said he liked that one best; she looked beautiful. No one except Mum had ever said she was beautiful before.

She switched off the bedside light, climbed under the duvet and closed her eyes. Tonight had been awesome, the best night ever. She and Al loved each other for definite. And on top of that, according to Lucy, Gemma, Chantelle and Abigail were in a right state.

They'd had identical texts: ‘
IM WATCHING YOU. STOP BULLYING FREYA OR YOU'LL B SORRY. I MEAN IT
.'

No one recognised the number and when they tried to call back it was switched off. Lucy said they'd discussed the possibility that it was Freya using someone else's phone, but they didn't think she'd do that. She was too chicken.

‘They're crapping themselves,' Lucy giggled. ‘They think someone might tell about that thing with Richie in the cafeteria.'

‘Good,' said Freya. She felt light; she could sing! Why hadn't she thought of it herself? But it's true, she'd never have dared. Al was wicked. She was almost looking forward to going into school tomorrow. That was a first.

Al. It was weird he was so old. I mean, what did he look like? He said he was OK. Maybe he was lying. She'd nearly asked him to send a photo but she was petrified. What if he was sick? He must be sick, for God's sake. He was forty-eight. Her dad was forty-six and he was gross. Well, Helen didn't seem to think so. She liked him enough to have a baby with him.

Freya shuddered. She didn't want to think about any of that. She shouldn't have to. Dad should still be with Mum, then Mum wouldn't be having sex with some weird bloke downstairs. She and Dad would be going to garden centres or something. That's what Lucy's parents did; that's what
normal
parents did.

It was hard to believe that she'd been so depressed. She couldn't believe she'd tried to kill herself. She didn't want to die now, no way. Al had been great. He said she must never, ever do it again. She must tell him how she was feeling and he'd help.

Who cared if he was sick-looking? He was the only one who was really there for her. Anyway, he couldn't be that bad. He didn't have a beer belly and man boobs, did he? God. She'd better ask him for a photo, just in case.

She heard whispering on the landing. Mum's voice – and a man's. Shit. They weren't going to go upstairs, were they? She put her hands over her ears. It was weird. Just as something went right, something else started to go wrong. She wished she could wake up and be twenty and everything would be sorted.

She couldn't imagine being twenty and going to university and stuff. Maybe she'd fail all her exams and never go to university. Maybe she'd have to live at home and sleep in this room until she was an old lady, dribbling and peeing everywhere. It was scary, all that stuff about the future. What if no one wanted her and she never got a job?

Al wanted her. He thought she was beautiful.

She turned over on to her other side and her limbs started to dissolve into the mattress. At least there was one solid thing in her life: Al. She wished he was here now. But he might go off her if he met her. She might go off him. He might not fancy her.

Maybe they should keep things as they were and never actually meet. They could just carry on talking like this for ever. She felt so close to him right now. They were like soulmates. But it would be nice just to see his face, his smile, feel his touch. Hold his hand.

She'd think about that some more in the morning.

Freya stumbled out of the front door and the cold seeped inside her collar and up her arms. Mum was right; she did need her jumper. Too late now. The air was a damp grey and the plants and shrubs on either side of the garden path were deep green and drooping with recent rain.

‘Stop pushing,' she screamed. Michael was right behind, nudging her in the back.

Her bag, groaning with books, was on one shoulder, the car keys in her other hand. She pressed the button to unlock the doors, which made a satisfying clunk.

‘Hurry up,' Mum shrieked from inside the house. What was she doing? ‘I can't find my bloody keys!' No change there, then.

Freya didn't usually get a lift to school but today was an emergency. They'd all overslept, even Michael. She'd probably get a late. She didn't care, but she was annoyed she'd miss registration. For once in her life she was looking forward to seeing Gemma and Chantelle's faces.

She glanced to her left and saw Bill hunched over his front gate. There was a box of tools at his feet. That was odd, mending a gate at this time, or mending a gate at all for that matter. Some people were funny.

‘Hi, Bill!' she said. She felt like being friendly; she was in a good mood, despite the rush.

He looked up and smiled. She liked his smile. It was a real, genuine smile, not like the kind that some adults give when they just pretend they're pleased to see you. ‘Hello, Freya!'

Michael pushed past and the bag dropped off her shoulder, spewing its contents over the garden path. She hadn't done it up properly.

‘Look what you've—'

But he'd already opened the car door, clambered into her seat in front and was deliberately looking in the other direction. Creep. Bill left his tools and helped her stuff the books back in her bag.

‘Thanks so much,' she said. He was really kind. ‘Bit of a rush. Late for school,' she explained.

‘Ah,' he said.

She caught his eye. She was surprised. Normally he was happy but today he looked serious, as if his mind was on something else. Mum came bustling down the path.

‘Get in the car,' she ordered. She nodded at Bill. ‘Hi.'

She could be a bit more friendly, when he'd just helped Freya with her bag.

‘Sorry about last night,' Mum said, ‘bothering you with all that stuff, I mean.'

What was she going on about?