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  Determined to turn this morning around and reclaim my day, I walked straight up to Lennox at school and kissed him hard. He was surrounded by the usual fangirls but I ignored them. He rocked back on his heels taken by surprise but made a quick recovery, great balance.

  He kissed me back, shoving his hand into my hair, pulling me as close as possible, as tight as he could hold me. It probably looked more desperate than romantic but I couldn’t care less. I was happy to lose image control in this situation. Better still, I had discovered a noise-cancelling attitude, which meant I didn’t hear who said what, the tuts, the whistles, around us.

  He showed no signs of needing to come up for air so I had to pull away first, almost a gasp.

  He groaned. I quickly pressed a finger over his lips.

  “You just killed the competition,” he whispered, looking around. The fangirls had disappeared, the scent of disapproval mingling with the latest perfume left hanging in their wake.

  “Hello, Lennox,” I said, my hands resting on his strong back.

  “Hey, you. Are you alright?”

  I let my head fall forward onto his chest. “I am now.”

  The bell went.

  I didn’t see him again until school was over. I did see Viv though. I marched up to her and, without saying a word, threw my arms around her and hugged her so hard she couldn’t escape. I’ve picked up a few techniques over the years from the professionals and know that the gentle touch can be more effective than resistance or indifference. To be fair, right now, I was more fierce than gentle but Viv was no pushover.

  She wriggled at first, attempting to suss out the exits, then I could feel her relax. I inhaled lipstick, powder and paint. My Viv, my friend, my lampshade.

  “I’m not supposed to talk to strangers,” she said, voice muffled in my cardigan.

  “We’re not talking,” I corrected her, “we’re holding.”

  She made a snorting sound and I thought I might be suffocating her so, reluctantly, I let her go.

  “I’m going to be late for class.” Viv looked miffed, readjusting her hair.

  “We’ll walk together,” I insisted. “I’m going that way.”

  “What was that about?” she asked, curiosity getting the better of her.

  “What?” I feigned ignorance but we both knew exactly what she was talking about.

  “Hey, don’t pretend you don’t know what I’m talking about?” Viv was no fool. “Give me a break.”

  “It was nothing.”

  “Is that so?”

  I shrugged, playing it down. “It was just a kiss.”

  “It was a tragicomedy, darling,” she scoffed, theatrical putdown.

  I was stung but didn’t react.

  It wasn’t exactly a comfortable silence as we continued to class but I was determined, confident that I could win her over.

  “Want to come to skate park with me after school? I asked. “Your brother is filming the latest tricks I think. Should be an alright atmosphere.”

  Viv stopped abruptly in the corridor and turned to look at me. “The last time I looked I wasn’t a skateboarder.”

  “Yes, I know that. I meant chill… y’know, hang out. Like you do. Like we do.”

  “I have rehearsals.”

  “After rehearsals?”

  “It will probably be a late one.” Viv reminded me of her stubborn streak.

  I looked down at my shoes admitting defeat. “I’m sorry, Viv.”

  “I’m a big girl,” she said walking off. “I can handle rejection. It’s all part of the audition process.”

  I caught up with her. “Don’t be like that, please Viv. I’m not Hollywood,” I joked. “I’m here. I’m back. It’s me.”

  Viv snorted again. “You’re never here anymore, Angie, that’s the point.”

  “Tomorrow then?”

  “I’ll see you when I see you. Let’s keep it like that.”

  “I miss you,” I said, realising how much this was true.

  “You’ll get over it,” Viv snapped as she walked into the classroom. “Like you do.”

  “I’m in over my head,” I said but the words dissolved in the crowd.

  I don’t think she heard me.

  14

  Angie: break

  Viv didn’t meet me after school so I went to the skate park alone. Lennox was nowhere to be found, which was probably a good thing even though I desperately wanted to see him. I decided we needed a little cooling-off time. I had undone all the good work: learning not to need someone.

  I was also starting to feel mortified about the “tragicomedy” kiss. I’d been too transparent, needing him like that – like that in front of so many people. It’s never good to need too much; it bloats and aches. Stomach ulcers are made of this. It also gives the crowd something to tag you with. Keep moving.

  Rob Lee was at the park, beanie pulled down to eye level, skinniest jeans. Recent sponsorship was reflected in his turns and technique. I’d never seen him ride so good. I put down my board to watch him.

  He nodded an acknowledgment but didn’t slow down. I could tell he was in the zone; building on ambition, gold-medal focus.

  I envied that focus right now. I couldn’t concentrate; kicking off the morning sparring with Louise was more hazardous to the health than a deep-fried breakfast. I didn’t feel particularly great. It didn’t help that Viv had bombed me out either. I missed her. I missed her kookiness, her droll sense of humour, her outrageous headgear, just her. I missed her a lot.

  “Why so serious, kid?” shouted Rob, grabbing his board on a jump.

  I jumped too, startled. “This is my face,” I joked, pulling a tragic pose. “This is as good as it gets.”

  “Come worship at the altar of selfies with me,” he said, wheels heading in my direction. “Need to photo-share with the followers.”

  I obliged. We grinned, or rather, goofed into his phone and he jumped back on his board. “Where’s my sister at? Thought you two were stuck like glue?”

  I kept it light. “Skateboarding killed the theatrical star.”

  “Best mate and brother mad about the board. Tough break – I feel for her.”

  “Give her some time out and then she’ll be back on the scene,” I said, thumbs up, spirits down.

  “I know so,” he shouted, off on a turn.

  I hoped so. I desperately hoped so.

  Digging into my jeans pocket, I was about to hook out my phone and send Viv a message when arms grabbed me from behind, almost pulling me to the ground. I felt his mouth on the side of my neck, his grip tightened and the fight went out of me. I let my bones go, relax.

  “You’re hard work,” he said. “You don’t answer your phone.”

  “I’m a silent-mode sort of girl.”

  He laughed.

  Then he kissed me.

  It was like watching someone else. Public displays of affection are an indulgence of those stuck on happiness time who suffer from the fixation that the world revolves around them. Viv and I liked to say, complete with actions (two fingers to the back of the throat): “Stick your PDAs where the sun don’t shine”.

  I kissed him back.

  The world did a full rotation around us. I forgot that we needed cooling-off time. I forgot that I didn’t exist. I forgot about learning not to need someone. I forgot to keep moving. I forgot to text Viv.

  Rob hollered over at us, “Get a room.”

  I can’t be reversed. I can’t go back and rewrite bad histories; Lennox and I can’t go back and un-meet each other, un-see each other for the first time. And no one can repair a broken heart, not really, there will always be pieces missing. Real life doesn’t have a rewind button and I’m sure there is a good reason for this. I believe it makes us more future-proof; minimising the effects of the shock and stresses that lie ahead.

  That day in my pram I guess I had lost a huge chunk of my future, the events in the park took away the opportunity to grow up with parents who loved me. Milestones, ages and stages
that families share. This experience could never be replicated by imaginal confrontation, or real.

  When I went “off the rails” at eight years old, it wasn’t like I was running with the wrong crowd. It was more that I was prone to unpredictable bursts of violence and frustration, hitting out with fists, throwing, tearing, screaming. Louise told me I needed to “tame it down” otherwise she didn’t know what she would do. I was just eight but I was smart enough to know that she knew exactly what to do with me. I would be handed over to someone; signed over, more paperwork to put in the file.

  It was a trial-and-error process when it came to working out how to “tame it down”. Snipping at my skin with scissors had no effect nor did chewing down my fingernails, which, incidentally, is a hard habit to break. Repeatedly running up and down stairs failed to calm me down, it only made me stronger; gymnastics ditto.

  The solution happened organically I suppose: I stopped speaking. It wasn’t a dramatic decision but a default one, mainly because there was no one to talk to. I lived in a large house with an aunt who was a loss what to do with me so we drifted, settled in different rooms and stayed there. I soon discovered that when I didn’t speak, I was tamed. I swallowed the harsh, ranting words down. I became invisible. I might even have stayed invisible had Louise not reared her head again. I think she found the strange bursts of silence worse than violence.

  It came to a head when she caught me crying in my room one night. Silent sobbing, of course. “That’s it!” she declared, petrified, as though the Devil had told her to take action now or else. His advice? Throw money at the problem, so she did. The very next day I was frogmarched to MacKenzie, best therapist in town.

  I approached MacKenzie with extreme caution as one would molten rock. I did believe, at first, that he was speaking a different language to me – all achs and brrs and ochs. He also used Scottish words instead of English ones and, initially, I struggled to grasp their meaning. For example, he used “fankle” for knots or twists. I was forever in a fankle, according to MacKenzie. Then there was “wheesht”, which was a call for quiet or silence.

  “Aw, wheesht, Angie,” MacKenzie would say good-naturedly when I told him I preferred to be invisible.

  Here was someone, essentially, telling a child who didn’t speak to shut up, which in its own fankled fashion was, I think, pure genius. Reverse psychology, right?

  I didn’t learn to talk again over night but the first session with MacKenzie was productive in that I strung a sentence together. After he had introduced himself, he asked me if I would like to trade information with him. Fact for fact. Advice for advice. Secret agents helping each other. He said, “Always pack your own parachute.”

  I stared back at him with dead eyes and said, “Don’t let Louise catch you crying.”

  Life happens when you’re busy looking the other way. I got up the next day, went to school, discovered Viv running with another crowd. Worse, she was running with the Sloanes: beautiful, well-heeled, cashmere-wrapped heroes who looked down on zeroes like me. I knew that Viv hated these girls too, which was a measure of how much she must have hated me at this moment.

  I challenged her. “How’s the entertainment in upper class these days – stimulating?”

  “Put the bitch back in the box, Angie,” Viv replied, unruffled, collecting books from her locker.

  I gave her a scathing look. “Hardly bitchy, babe.” I dropped unnecessary stress on the last word. “Just curious. I had no idea you had a soft spot for Arabella Maxwell-Moares. Now you’re somehow soulmates, right?”

  Viv ignored me, which irritated me more, so I rode out the rest of the conversation on a bad-tempered outburst.

  “You go to my house why? Seriously, it’s the only way you can reach me?”

  Viv shrugged unbothered. “Actually, it was the only way I could reach you. You didn’t return my text messages.”

  “I don’t need you talking to Louise,” I hissed. “It helps no one.”

  Viv stared at me, then continued fussing over books. “I called round at your house. You weren’t there.”

  “Louise thinks Lennox is bad news.”

  “What does this have to do with me?”

  I was more than happy to enlighten her. “You turn up at the house… turn on the I’m-so-the-neglected-friend act. Louise thinks Lennox has edged you out; hooked me in, which we both know is not true.”

  Viv carefully closed her locker door and faced me. “Not true?” she repeated incredulously. “What planet are you on, Angie?”

  I stared back. “I’m in a good place,” I said lowering my voice. “That’s what planet.”

  “And that’s all that matters, isn’t it,” scoffed Viv, zipping up her bag, flinging it over her shoulder.

  “What’s that supposed to mean?” I fired back.

  “I either fall in line or get left behind?”

  “You’re wrong,” I said.

  “You’re selfish.”

  I howled incredulously. “Selfish, me?”

  At this, Viv went into freak-out mode, her eyes opened wide, she started yelling. “Angie, we do what you want to do. Do you ever stop to think that I might not want to be on the skateboarding scene all the time? It’s my brother’s gig; it’s your gig; it’s sure as hell not mine.”

  People stopped and stared but Viv wasn’t finished. She was used to an audience whereas I wasn’t.

  “Do you come to rehearsals to watch me sing?” she shouted, throwing her voice to the far walls. “Ever helped me rehearse lines for drama class? Or come to a show with me to hear someone else sing? Um, no, no and hell, no! It’s all about you. Correction: it was all about you and now it’s all about you and Lennox Jones. Or am I wrong?”

  I just stood there, embarrassed at the unwanted attention and accusations, too stunned to respond.

  “Nope. Didn’t think so,” snapped Viv walking off like she couldn’t care less if she never saw me again.

  “You’re just jealous,” I screamed, stung that she could dismiss me so effortlessly. She wasn’t the only one who could project. “You can’t stand me spending time with Lennox because you think it’s time I should be spending with YOU.”

  She didn’t look back but I have no doubt whatsoever that she heard me. I’m pretty sure the whole school did.

  I put my head down and marched off to class. I had no idea how it had got to this: Louise telling me that Lennox was a fighter, not to be trusted; Viv having a major meltdown in front of everyone.

  Then I was aware that someone was next to me, light on his feet. I glanced to the right and Lennox gave me his reassuring chip-toothed smile. “I heard some of what happened back there. You okay, baby?”

  I nodded, unable, not wanting, to speak.

  He dodged in front of me, bringing me to a halt. “You’re beautiful, Angie Anderson,” he said walking backwards. Then he raised his arms like a traffic officer to indicate we were going in opposite directions. I watched him jog down the corridor until he disappeared before I started walking again. Keep moving.

  I was beautiful? It wasn’t true, of course it wasn’t, but his words made me feel shinier than stars.

  To be totally honest, I know I had Louise to thank for bringing MacKenzie into my life. Without MacKenzie there might never have been a skateboard and without a skateboard there would definitely have been no me.

  Unfortunately, the one good turn that Louise had done had been repeatedly cancelled out by everything she had done ever since. Never more so than now. I could tell that she was dying to know what had happened with Viv, so I took great delight in telling her nothing.

  So much for eating chocolates under the covers in her room; Louise now always seemed to be here, there, wherever I was in the house and, whenever a text-message alert pinged, her head swivelled, weird, forward-facing eyes fixed on me. I’d huff and flounce off leaving her none the wiser.

  Lennox, of course, was absolutely not discussed unless Louise, unable to bite it back, dropped an acidic comment or tw
o. She failed to realise how her attacks on him impacted on me. Her refusal to believe that Lennox might be genuinely interested in me because he liked me fuelled my worst fears. Louise might have had my best interests at heart but it didn’t come across like that. Instead, it compounded the feeling I’d known all my life: Lennox wasn’t to blame. It was me: I was unloveable.

  I don’t think I could ever forgive Louise for reminding me about that.

  Louise wasn’t the only one I was angry at. I was furious at Viv too. The more I thought about it, the angrier I got. Viv and I were, well, Viv and I – an assortment of mismatched bits and parts lovingly and painstakingly assembled to create a solid, unbreakable structure.

  We were supposed to sand down the flaws; instead, I’d been unfriended. Arabella Maxwell-Moares and others had replaced me. I was shocked at how cruel the turnaround had been. I was so sure Viv would text me but I didn’t hear from her. I didn’t text her because it was obvious she didn’t want to hear from me. Maybe I didn’t text her because I didn’t want to find out that she wouldn’t reply. Who knows? So I filled the enormous space she left behind with more and more Lennox. Just the two of us with no space between us.

  I soon ignored the fear that he wouldn’t turn up; this is because he never let me down. He knew the usual haunts and parks and would meet me there. I spent ridiculous amounts of time looking at that face; handsome painting, a little graffitied. It kept me awake at night. Often he’d present me with a blue-and-silver can containing ginseng and caffeine, which I’m pretty sure is the romantic skateboarder’s answer to a bunch of flowers.

  Lennox was a perfect example of someone who had been adored from the start. The moment his lungs first filled with air as a newborn he was loved forever. This love spilled out of him – he was generous with compliments, first to hug, slow to let go, quick on the uptake and he knew when I needed less or more. I knew how he worked too – just be there for him, next to him.

  Science, however, makes more sense to me: I know that the heart is a major organ that shares body space with the brain and that these are connected by means of a nervous system composed of 40,000 neurons, at least. I know we feel pain because there are one hundred billion nerve cells in our brain. We are hormones, neurochemicals, blood flow and impulses. The transmission between the heart and the brain can often stimulate the same sensation in different situations: ache with loss and ache with love.