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Authors: Hilary Freeman
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kindly ignored it.
‘So, if you still want to see me again, here’s the plan. Meet me by the pond in King Edward’s park at two p.m. And wear your Wonder Woman costume.’
‘It’s got to go to the dry cleaner’s, I’m afraid. But two in the park sounds good. I’m intrigued. Are we going to feed the ducks?’
‘Maybe,’ he said. ‘Maybe not. Enough questions – you’ll have to wait and see. I’m looking forward to it.’
‘Me too.’ He had no idea how much. ‘Bye, Danny. Take care.’
‘Bye, Omi.’
And with a click, he was gone.
I went to bed early that night, but I couldn’t sleep. Lying in so late and doing very little all day had left me with an excess of energy and no outlet for it. I tried to
read for a while, but the words danced before my eyes. After scanning the same page three times, and absorbing none of it, I gave up. The truth was that I wasn’t interested in the lives of
the characters in the novel. I only wanted to know about Danny, to discover what the next day, the next chapter in
our
story, would bring.
Even then, I had an instinct that our burgeoning relationship was to be an important one for me, something that would mark and change me, that I would talk about in years to come. I’d had
two ‘serious’ boyfriends before I met Danny, the first at fifteen and the second from sixteen to seventeen. I had cared for them both, but I had never really loved either of them, at
least not in the way I believed love should feel. Both relationships had developed out of friendship, jogging along sweetly until I grew bored and felt it was kinder to put an end to things.
Mark, the boy who had made me the compilation CD, was the son of my parents’ friends. We’d grown up together, spending summer Sunday afternoons at barbecues and evenings at each
other’s houses, ordered to play upstairs while our parents hosted dinner parties. By the time we’d turned fifteen, getting together seemed like the obvious thing to do; it would almost
have been rude not to. It was the lazy option, so much easier for both of us than meeting a stranger at a party or youth club and enduring weeks of uncertainty, coded looks and gossip. To me, Mark
represented familiarity and safety. We could practise kissing and fumbling with each other without any risk of getting hurt, or anybody else finding out.
The trouble was, I don’t think I ever really fancied Mark – I thought of him as a mate and I assumed he felt the same way. It turned out that I was very wrong. When I broke up with
him, one hot Tuesday afternoon in the summer holidays after our GCSEs (not long after he gave me the CD), he cried. He told me he’d thought we’d be together for years and that one day
we’d get married. After that, he never spoke to me again.
My second proper relationship was with Jack, a guy who joined my school in the Sixth Form. We took the same classes and often found ourselves working on joint projects. We got together at his
house while revising for a test and our relationship lasted the whole school year. I really fancied Jack – he had a mop of blond hair and an athletic build, a bit like David Beckham (though
that’s exaggerating his handsomeness). He was kind and sexy, but he was too much like hard work. He thought of himself as the strong, silent type – he rarely revealed what he was
thinking or feeling and I’d have to drag it out of him. But what he had to say was never interesting enough to merit the effort. When he had his hair cut short, I did the same to our
relationship.
Since Jack, there had been nobody special, just a few snogs at parties. I was impatient, ready for ‘the real thing’, for love and passion and excitement and intensity. And now, there
was Danny, with his music and his dark lyrics and his ambition. You could say we were a perfect fit.
Chapter 6
I ’ve never been one for surprises – I don’t like being thrown off guard and having to improvise. I always like to be
‘So, if you still want to see me again, here’s the plan. Meet me by the pond in King Edward’s park at two p.m. And wear your Wonder Woman costume.’
‘It’s got to go to the dry cleaner’s, I’m afraid. But two in the park sounds good. I’m intrigued. Are we going to feed the ducks?’
‘Maybe,’ he said. ‘Maybe not. Enough questions – you’ll have to wait and see. I’m looking forward to it.’
‘Me too.’ He had no idea how much. ‘Bye, Danny. Take care.’
‘Bye, Omi.’
And with a click, he was gone.
I went to bed early that night, but I couldn’t sleep. Lying in so late and doing very little all day had left me with an excess of energy and no outlet for it. I tried to
read for a while, but the words danced before my eyes. After scanning the same page three times, and absorbing none of it, I gave up. The truth was that I wasn’t interested in the lives of
the characters in the novel. I only wanted to know about Danny, to discover what the next day, the next chapter in
our
story, would bring.
Even then, I had an instinct that our burgeoning relationship was to be an important one for me, something that would mark and change me, that I would talk about in years to come. I’d had
two ‘serious’ boyfriends before I met Danny, the first at fifteen and the second from sixteen to seventeen. I had cared for them both, but I had never really loved either of them, at
least not in the way I believed love should feel. Both relationships had developed out of friendship, jogging along sweetly until I grew bored and felt it was kinder to put an end to things.
Mark, the boy who had made me the compilation CD, was the son of my parents’ friends. We’d grown up together, spending summer Sunday afternoons at barbecues and evenings at each
other’s houses, ordered to play upstairs while our parents hosted dinner parties. By the time we’d turned fifteen, getting together seemed like the obvious thing to do; it would almost
have been rude not to. It was the lazy option, so much easier for both of us than meeting a stranger at a party or youth club and enduring weeks of uncertainty, coded looks and gossip. To me, Mark
represented familiarity and safety. We could practise kissing and fumbling with each other without any risk of getting hurt, or anybody else finding out.
The trouble was, I don’t think I ever really fancied Mark – I thought of him as a mate and I assumed he felt the same way. It turned out that I was very wrong. When I broke up with
him, one hot Tuesday afternoon in the summer holidays after our GCSEs (not long after he gave me the CD), he cried. He told me he’d thought we’d be together for years and that one day
we’d get married. After that, he never spoke to me again.
My second proper relationship was with Jack, a guy who joined my school in the Sixth Form. We took the same classes and often found ourselves working on joint projects. We got together at his
house while revising for a test and our relationship lasted the whole school year. I really fancied Jack – he had a mop of blond hair and an athletic build, a bit like David Beckham (though
that’s exaggerating his handsomeness). He was kind and sexy, but he was too much like hard work. He thought of himself as the strong, silent type – he rarely revealed what he was
thinking or feeling and I’d have to drag it out of him. But what he had to say was never interesting enough to merit the effort. When he had his hair cut short, I did the same to our
relationship.
Since Jack, there had been nobody special, just a few snogs at parties. I was impatient, ready for ‘the real thing’, for love and passion and excitement and intensity. And now, there
was Danny, with his music and his dark lyrics and his ambition. You could say we were a perfect fit.
Chapter 6
I ’ve never been one for surprises – I don’t like being thrown off guard and having to improvise. I always like to be
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