sight of him, a huge present just waiting for her to unwrap. He did look impressive though. Six foot two and shoulders that looked like he played rugby, which we later found out he did. Blond hair and blue eyes and the remains of his French tan lingering. He had cheekbones to die for and a full mouth that might’ve looked a bit too girly if it wasn’t set in a permanent sneer.
Good-looking – tick.
Hot – tick.
Badass attitude – double tick.
‘Wait for me,’ Lindz muttered and she strolled over to him, leaving me pretending to read the notices in the shop window. ‘Hi, I heard you were back,’ she said.
He gave her a ‘Do I know you?’ expression that would’ve withered me. Lindz just reflected it back at him until he laughed and leaned back in the seat to stare up at her with more interest. ‘How do you not go crazy in this place?’ he asked. ‘It completely sucks and I’ve only been back a week.’
‘Don’t you know that in villages you have to make your own entertainment?’
I spun round, hardly believing my ears. She couldn’t really have said that, or meant it how it sounded. But I saw from her face that she did.
And Steven knew it too.
They were hardly apart after that.
But he never even went to her funeral.
We took the bridleway back towards the house and once past the woods, Raggs scented home and scampered ahead. I opened my mouth to shout him back . . .
Too late.
Something hurtled past the open gateway. I heard a simultaneous crash of metal and Raggs setting up a volley of frantic barks.
I jumped down from Scrabble’s back and hauled him to the open gate, looping his reins quickly over the gatepost before I ran into the lane.
‘Oh, I’m so sorry! Are you . . .’ The words died on my lips. A bike was sprawled on the road in front of me, wheels spinning, and to my left a boy groaned on the ground with Raggs running round him like a mad thing.
The boat boy . . . oh God, no . . .
I stared at him, my stomach sinking into my riding boots, and tried to wish myself invisible. Raggs stopped running in circles and leaped on him, licking his face madly.
‘No! Gerroff!’ He shoved Raggs away, but not roughly.
I ran over and clipped the dog’s lead on. ‘Um, are you all right?’ Then I noticed what he was lying in. No . . . oh no . . . let me die now . . . A pile of horse droppings. A pile I was pretty sure Scrabble had made earlier. My dog had knocked him off his bike and now he was lying in my horse’s muck.
He sat up with a wince – didn’t he ever wear a shirt? – and wriggled his legs. ‘Yeah, I’m fine.’
I clapped my hand to my mouth when I saw his back. ‘Oh my God! You’re really bleeding!’
He peered over his shoulder. ‘Eww!’ When he looked at the ground behind him in disgust, I braced myself for a hail of abuse. ‘Aww, no, I didn’t . . .’
Sorry, sorry, sorry . . .
He turned back, looked up at me and burst out laughing. ‘Guess at least I got a soft landing, huh? Good aim!’ He scrambled up, gritting his teeth. ‘Are you all right? You’re white as a ghost.’
‘You’re bleeding,’ I said again stupidly.
He scrunched his face up and twisted round in an effort to see his back. ‘I’ll heal – no big deal.’ I gave up waiting for him to explode. It didn’t seem as if he was going to. Instead he grinned ruefully at me. ‘Look a right mess, don’t I?’ Then his eyes widened. ‘Oh shit!’ He hobbled over to his bike and yanked a gift-wrapped parcel out of the rucksack on the back. He felt it over carefully and relaxed. ‘It’s not broken.’
‘Is it a present?’
‘Yeah, for my mum.’ He tucked the package back into the rucksack and picked his bike up.
I swallowed hard at the sight of the blood trickling down his back, mixing with blobs of horse muck. It must hurt a lot more than he was letting on. ‘Is your bike damaged?’
‘Nah, it’s a heap of old junk anyway. Looks all right.’ He wheeled it a few steps. ‘Yeah,
Good-looking – tick.
Hot – tick.
Badass attitude – double tick.
‘Wait for me,’ Lindz muttered and she strolled over to him, leaving me pretending to read the notices in the shop window. ‘Hi, I heard you were back,’ she said.
He gave her a ‘Do I know you?’ expression that would’ve withered me. Lindz just reflected it back at him until he laughed and leaned back in the seat to stare up at her with more interest. ‘How do you not go crazy in this place?’ he asked. ‘It completely sucks and I’ve only been back a week.’
‘Don’t you know that in villages you have to make your own entertainment?’
I spun round, hardly believing my ears. She couldn’t really have said that, or meant it how it sounded. But I saw from her face that she did.
And Steven knew it too.
They were hardly apart after that.
But he never even went to her funeral.
We took the bridleway back towards the house and once past the woods, Raggs scented home and scampered ahead. I opened my mouth to shout him back . . .
Too late.
Something hurtled past the open gateway. I heard a simultaneous crash of metal and Raggs setting up a volley of frantic barks.
I jumped down from Scrabble’s back and hauled him to the open gate, looping his reins quickly over the gatepost before I ran into the lane.
‘Oh, I’m so sorry! Are you . . .’ The words died on my lips. A bike was sprawled on the road in front of me, wheels spinning, and to my left a boy groaned on the ground with Raggs running round him like a mad thing.
The boat boy . . . oh God, no . . .
I stared at him, my stomach sinking into my riding boots, and tried to wish myself invisible. Raggs stopped running in circles and leaped on him, licking his face madly.
‘No! Gerroff!’ He shoved Raggs away, but not roughly.
I ran over and clipped the dog’s lead on. ‘Um, are you all right?’ Then I noticed what he was lying in. No . . . oh no . . . let me die now . . . A pile of horse droppings. A pile I was pretty sure Scrabble had made earlier. My dog had knocked him off his bike and now he was lying in my horse’s muck.
He sat up with a wince – didn’t he ever wear a shirt? – and wriggled his legs. ‘Yeah, I’m fine.’
I clapped my hand to my mouth when I saw his back. ‘Oh my God! You’re really bleeding!’
He peered over his shoulder. ‘Eww!’ When he looked at the ground behind him in disgust, I braced myself for a hail of abuse. ‘Aww, no, I didn’t . . .’
Sorry, sorry, sorry . . .
He turned back, looked up at me and burst out laughing. ‘Guess at least I got a soft landing, huh? Good aim!’ He scrambled up, gritting his teeth. ‘Are you all right? You’re white as a ghost.’
‘You’re bleeding,’ I said again stupidly.
He scrunched his face up and twisted round in an effort to see his back. ‘I’ll heal – no big deal.’ I gave up waiting for him to explode. It didn’t seem as if he was going to. Instead he grinned ruefully at me. ‘Look a right mess, don’t I?’ Then his eyes widened. ‘Oh shit!’ He hobbled over to his bike and yanked a gift-wrapped parcel out of the rucksack on the back. He felt it over carefully and relaxed. ‘It’s not broken.’
‘Is it a present?’
‘Yeah, for my mum.’ He tucked the package back into the rucksack and picked his bike up.
I swallowed hard at the sight of the blood trickling down his back, mixing with blobs of horse muck. It must hurt a lot more than he was letting on. ‘Is your bike damaged?’
‘Nah, it’s a heap of old junk anyway. Looks all right.’ He wheeled it a few steps. ‘Yeah,
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