Total pages in book: 140
Estimated words: 137588 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 688(@200wpm)___ 550(@250wpm)___ 459(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 137588 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 688(@200wpm)___ 550(@250wpm)___ 459(@300wpm)
And I cried with guilt, for feeling so good about being here instead of her.
***
It was a strange moment when the entirety of Anna’s belongings were packed away.
The house seemed bigger, and the morning sun made it bright again.
Mark was ragged and tired and puffy-eyed. His shoulders were heavy, and his hair was wild. And he was perfect, and broken, and mine.
I hoped I’d never see him like this again, but even in his pain he was beautiful. And I felt close to him, close enough that I could feel his heartbeat in mine.
He piled up the last of the boxes, ready for storage, and he sat himself down on the sofa and lit up a cigarette.
I approached slowly, and he pressed his forehead to my tummy and wrapped his arms around me, and just breathed while I held him, and while I stroked his hair and told him how good things were going to be.
How we were going to love enough to fill a hundred houses with trinkets and silly memories. How we were going to wear novelty socks, and watch the tide come in together, and make love on the sand.
Mark Roberts cried for me that night, in a way I hope I never see anyone cry again. Purging sobs that racked his soul and broke his heart.
But then, in the new day, he came back to me.
His eyes cleared, and his smile widened, and he held me like I was his everything.
And that’s when I knew beyond all doubt that I’d been right the whole time. Knew beyond all doubt that my heart had known what my mind didn’t yet understand.
He was meant for me, and I was meant for him.
And he’d known it, too.
“I meant we’re cut from similar cloth… it’s not just the artistic eye, it’s the way of viewing the world. You could cut through the differences, the personality traits, the life history, even the age gap, and what you’d have left is the same creative current running through us both. That’s what I meant… That’s how I see it…”
And that’s how I saw it, too.
I loved Mark Roberts and he loved me.
And it would be forever.
***
Helen
Back to cold, hard reality, only I wasn’t ready.
My legs felt like jelly and my feet felt like concrete lumps, and my uniform felt stiff as a board and way too small for me. I hated it.
I hated what it meant.
Two weeks of bliss had flown by, and I’d been spat out of Heaven, landing straight back in my school shoes like nothing had changed. But everything had changed.
I’d changed.
I waited by the alleyway and checked my phone again but there was nothing from Lizzie. I’d been trying to reach her for a week, dropping her instant messages and calls and texts, but she’d reply with nothing more than a at Nan’s, speak soon. The thought made my stomach churn worse than it was already.
And then, just when things were shit and awkward enough, there was Dad’s casual announcement over breakfast.
“I’m covering Frank’s leave these next few weeks. Long shifts, Helen. You’ll have to pull your weight around here, look after your sister with your mum working as well.”
“But, Dad! can’t someone else cover? I mean, I’m busy now…”
“We’re all bloody busy, Helen. Holiday time’s over. Lover boy will have to wait.”
Frank worked evenings and weekends, covering the city runs to Hereford and back. Which meant, for all intents and purposes, I was grounded.
No Mark.
And no Lizzie either, seemingly.
I trudged my way into school, craving a couple of drags on one of her cigarettes, just like old times, and almost fainted when I spotted her in the distance, walking along with none other than Rachel Panter, the girl who’d been snogging Scottie’s face off at the winter ball.
Just what the fuck?
I followed them, trailing behind until they disappeared into the sixth form common room, which we generally avoided at all costs, not least because it was bitch bag central and full of mean girls and nastiness. Seemingly not today, not enough to keep Lizzie out of there.
I followed them upstairs and into the study area, to a backdrop of cackling as the Jennings’ posse caught sight of me.
“Hey, Helen. How’s Harry?”
“Hey, Helen. Are those little boy tits still frostbitten?”
“Hey, Helen. We didn’t know you were such a little slut, Helen. We didn’t know you liked it in public with the whole world watching.”
“Hey, Helen. You’re such a pathetic little loser.”
For once it meant nothing, not any of it, not a single bit.
Lizzie didn’t see me before I’d grabbed her elbow. She spun with wide eyes and a big old pout on her face. Her expression softened as she saw it was me, but only a little.
“Hey,” I said. “What’s going on? I was trying to call you, like loads.”