Six Steps to a Girl (17 page)

Clinging to Ryan and weeping, Chloe took the box and shook it gently. Ashes floated to the ground.

“Bye Dad,” she whispered. “I love you.”

And then she passed the box to me. I took it, my heart suddenly beating fast. There were only a few ashes still inside the box. Was that all that was left? Of a man? Of his life?

No. He was coming back. He’d always been coming back before.

I stood rigid. Completely still. But inside I was wild with panic. There had to be a mistake. I wasn’t ready to say goodbye. I tried to remember Dad’s face but it kept slipping away, like I was seeing it through a fog. I closed my eyes, concentrating harder, willing him into my head.

And then I saw him. How he used to look when we played football and he scored a goal – running around, grinning, with his arms in the air. How he sat in his chair when he was ill, his eyes empty and sad, staring at the TV.

How he’d listened to music. All the time.
God.
How he’d tried to get me to listen with him before he died.

I opened my eyes and stared at the handful of ashes in the box, not wanting to let them go. I tipped the box. Not much. Just a little. But enough for the wind to whip inside and whirl the ashes up and out into the air.

They floated to the ground.

This wave of loss welled up through my gut. I bent over, trying to hold it in. But it pushed up and up, through my chest and into my throat. I had to let it out. It was too big, too powerful to hold inside me any longer.

It ripped itself out of me in this awful, tearing wail. My legs buckled. I dropped the empty box and fell forwards onto my knees. My hands clawed at ash and earth. Dust trickled through my fingers.

I curled over on the ground and howled. Tears and snot and spit and rage spilled out of me.

I pressed my face into the earth, surrendering to the pain of it.

My dad was dead.

He was never coming back.

I don’t know how long I lay there. But when I finally looked up, the clearing was empty. No. Not quite empty. Mum was sitting on the ground a couple of metres away, her legs curled up underneath her, her back against one of the silver trees.

She smiled, her eyes full of tears. “Luke?”

I brushed the dirt from my face and sat up, my face burning. How could I have completely lost it like that? In front of everyone. I stared at the earth.

“Are you all right?” Mum’s voice was sad, hesitant. “Do you want to talk?”

I shook my head. We sat in silence for a moment. A soft breeze rustled through the trees, cool against my face. I felt lighter, somehow. And yet . . . less empty.

“Where did everyone go?”

“Back to the car,” Mum said. “I thought you’d rather be on your own, but . . . but I . . .” Her voice cracked.

I looked up. A tear was trickling down her face. Her mouth trembled. “Oh, Luke.”

I got up and walked over to her. I sat down beside her and hugged her. And maybe . . . you know, maybe I did cry a little more. I mean, I’m sorry if you think that’s lame, but he was my dad.

After a while Mum pulled back and blew her nose. “I’m sorry I didn’t realise how hard all this was for you. I’ve been so worried about Chloe that I didn’t . . . I mean, I know she’s better now . . . now that Ryan’s around, but still . . .”

Ryan.

My face flushed. How embarrassing, wailing like that in front of Ryan.

Mum seemed to read my mind. “Ryan’ll understand.” She blew her nose again. “He’s your friend. It’s you I’m worried about.”

“I’m fine, Mum.” I stood up and held out my hand to help her up. Maybe she was right. Ryan was pretty cool about emotional stuff.

Mum reached out her own hand to take mine and I suddenly remembered doing the same thing with Dad, just before he went into hospital the last time. He’d been sitting in his armchair and was trying to get up. And he was too weak, so I’d gone over and held out my hand to help him. And he’d let me pull him up and then he’d hugged me. He didn’t say anything, just held me really tightly. And I’d been all embarrassed, because Dad and I didn’t do that kind of stuff. Hugging and that.

Funny how I’d forgotten it and now it was such a strong memory I could almost feel his body, all weak and wasted, under my arms.

Dad hadn’t wanted to go away. He hadn’t wanted to leave me. He just hadn’t known what to say.

And I hadn’t known what to say to him.

And now it was too late.

“Luke?” Mum brushed the hair off my forehead.

“Really, I’m fine, Mum.” I leaned forward and kissed her on the cheek. “Er . . . thanks.”

She frowned. “Thanks for what?”

I shrugged. “Dunno,” I said. “Just ‘thanks’.”

Mum’s frown smoothed out into a smile.

“Come on,” she said. “Let’s go back to the car.”

And together we strolled through the trees, the wind pushing at the branches, waving us towards the path.

We got home at about four. The sun had finally managed to burn through the clouds and the house felt stuffy.

I went upstairs and played all Dad’s records, one by one. For the first time, I listened properly. To the music. To the words. Some of them I liked. Some of them I didn’t. But that didn’t matter. They were his. And he’d wanted to share them with me.

I was still upstairs when the doorbell rang. My door was open and I could hear Mum talking to whoever it was, asking them if they wanted to come in.

Then the door shut and Mum yelled up to me. “Luke, something here for you.”

I sauntered downstairs. Mum was holding out a small envelope. My name was printed on it in bold, black capitals. “Chloe’s friend, Eve, was just here,” she said. “But not to see Chloe. She didn’t want to come in. Just said she was dropping off something of yours, something to do with an art project?”

The world stood still. I took the envelope and ripped it open. Inside were a handful of wooden buttons. They clanked, dully, against each other. There was no note. Nothing.

“Did she say anything else?” I stared at Mum, my heart pounding.

Mum shook her head. “What does—?”

But I was already out the door.

On the pavement, I looked up and down the road. Where was she? Then I saw her. Almost at the corner. I raced after her.

“Eve,” I yelled. “Eve.”

She stopped. Turned round. I panted up to her, my eyes drinking in her face. She looked nervous.

“What . . .?” I faltered. “Why . . .?”

“I thought you might want your buttons back, as you’re not coming to Art Club anymore,” she said.

I frowned.

“My coursework’s coming on well,” she said, “I’ve done a collage of both my mum’s eyes now. Took me ages to get them so they looked abstract, not crossed.”

“Eve?”
What’s going on? Why are you here?

There was a long silence. A single ray of sunlight fell between us across the pavement.

Eve’s mouth trembled. “I dumped Ben,” she said. “A week ago. You were right, all he cared about was what his mates thought. He told me he’d only been going out with me because everyone thought I was hot. And that he was going to dump me anyway because I wouldn’t . . . you know . . . do it with him.” She glanced away. “He asked me not to say anything for a few days, so I didn’t. Then, yesterday, he started telling people he’d dumped
me
.”

I took a step closer to her. “He’s a piece of work,” I said. “You should forget him.”

She looked up at me. “I have,” she said.

There was another long silence.

I couldn’t bear it. What was she telling me? What was she asking me?

“So . . .?” I said.

Eve stepped into the ray of sunlight between us. She put up her hand to shield her eyes from the glare. “You were right to make me choose,” she stammered. “I mean I was angry at the time. I told myself you were arrogant and stupid . . . but it made me realise . . . stuff.” She took a deep breath. “A lot of what it came down to was that I was embarrassed what people would think . . . what they’d say . . . you know . . . if I dated someone so much younger.”

“I’m not so much younger. My birthday’s in September. That’s just six months diff—”

“It’s a different school year. Oh, Luke, you know what people are like. I thought they’d talk about me behind my back. Or tease me about it.”

“So all you care about is what other people think?” I said, slowly.

Jesus. Was that it?

“Chloe’s going out with Ryan. He’s in my year and she doesn’t seem bothered.”

Eve took her hand away from her face. Her eyes were paler than ever in the glare of the sun. “I know. It was really stupid of me. You’re a million times cuter than Ben. And you make me laugh. And you really listen to what I say . . .” She bit her lip. “Anyway, I guess now you know what a jerk I am you won’t want to come back to Art Club.”

Bloody hell.
Why was she dragging up Art Club again? Why couldn’t she say what she meant?

“You mean, you want to be friends?” I said, uncertainly.

“If that’s what you want.” She shrugged.

I stared at her, my throat suddenly tight. “What do
you
want?” I said.

She stepped out of the sunlight towards me. “I miss you,” she said. “And I don’t care what people think anymore.”

She just stood there staring up at me.

She was like nobody else.

And she wanted me.

I hesitated for less than a second.

Her cheek felt warm under my cold fingers. Her lips soft on my mouth. I leaned into her, feeling myself falling.

Letting myself fall.

We started going out properly after that. Mostly on our own or in big groups, but sometimes double-dating with Chlo and Ryan. Chloe was a bit sniffy at first, but once Eve told everyone in her year Ben had forced her into saying I’d attacked her, Chloe forgave her everything. And, as expected, Ben was too busy with his new girlfriend to be the slightest bit bothered about Eve and me.

We get on well, the four of us. Ry and Chloe both love being the centre of attention, while me and Eve are happy to sit back and let them get on with it. Frankly, watching Ryan talk Chloe out of a mood is a whole evening’s worth of entertainment in its own right.

But after a while, I always draw Eve away, get her to myself for a bit. She’s been teased at school for dating me, but she’s still here.

What else can I tell you?

Maybe just this: A few days ago Chloe gave me part of the letter Dad left for her when he died. It’s about me.

I showed Eve. Only Eve. She read it and hugged me.

You see, she totally gets me.

Totally gets who I am and what I want.

My girl.

My life.

My way.