Chapter 9

When I eventually gain consciousness, I feel no better. In many ways, I feel much worse.

I grab my phone, and my first disappointment is that there are no messages. I don't know why I thought there might be some, but maybe a tiny nugget of hope deep inside thinks this is salvageable and things can be normal again. The second cause for chagrin is that it's one o'clock in the afternoon. Which makes the first reason cut even deeper. I hate sleeping the day away; I'm an early riser and like to be occupied. A work ethic I've inherited from my dad no doubt. Sleeping past nine a.m. usually makes me feel groggy, with an overwhelming sense of being behind on something for the rest of the day. I contemplate giving up completely and staying where I am until tomorrow. But also, when I'm awake, that's it. No going back to sleep for me. There's also the problem that I'm stuck to the bedsheets. Urgh. I peel myself off them, strip the bed, and shower.

Peering into the mirror, I see I look like shit. Well, at least it's an outward sign of how I'm feeling right now. I clean my teeth to try to eliminate the sour taste in my mouth, but it's only partly successful.

I notice my nails, their neon brightness a gaudy reminder of a poor decision. I remove the colour before heading downstairs.

"Ah, there you are, love." My mum looks up from where she's checking the Sunday roast in the oven. The smell of the cooking meat and fat brings up a wave of bile that I swallow back down.

"Hi, Mum."

"I didn't hear you come in last night, so it must have been late. I looked in on you earlier, and you were dead to the world so I let you sleep. Did you have a good night?"

"Hmmm." I grunt a non-committal answer, hoping she doesn't require a real answer.

"Do you want anything to eat, love?" She smiles at me. It's a comforting smile, and I would appreciate it if I could be comforted right now.

"Maybe later." She's used to me being out, usually at the dance school, so I know that it's not a problem for me to have leftovers later.

"Okay. Will you fetch your dad then, please?"

"Is he at the club?" I didn't fancy a walk down the hill and back.

"He's next door. Gran had a leaking tap he said he'd fix for her."

I nod and go to the back door. My body feels uncoordinated, so I force it to negotiate the steps, managing them successfully. The fact that I consider using some steps as a small win today shows how low I've sunk. But movement is helping and I step up to Gran's back door, feeling at least more together.

My dad is just finishing up fixing the leak and I despatch him back home, following him to collect some dinner for my gran.

I place it on the table for her in the kitchen, and fetch her a drink and some cutlery. I'm still not hungry so I go into the front room and sink onto her couch, pulling out my phone. Still no messages.

Eventually, I hear the kettle boiling, and Gran makes her way through from the kitchen.

"Would you make the tea, dear?" she says before she sits in her favourite armchair.

"Of course." It'll give me something to do, anyway.

"And bring the biscuit tin. I baked some cookies this morning," she calls after me. Another layer of irritation with myself adds to my dark mood. I love baking cookies with Gran and I could have helped her this morning. Her chocolate chip oat cookies are my favourite.

I fill the teapot, set out the china cups, add the biscuit tin to the tray, and take it through. I put it down on the table and pour her a cup. I pour a cup for myself, grab a cookie, and then slump back onto the couch. Gran takes a sip of her tea and then sets the cup down.

"What is it?" She turns her keen eyes on me.

"I'm fine," I mumble, refusing to look at her.

"Nicholas, don't you lie to me. Something's hurting you, and keeping it bottled up won't help." The stern note in her voice makes me wince.

"Talking about it won't make it any better." I pick at a thread on my jeans and still won't make eye contact with her.

"You never know unless you try." Her tone is softer this time, and I know she's probably right, even though I don't want to talk about it and I can't see a way out of it.

"I think I've messed things up with Darcy." I open with. She's met Darcy several times. When she was more mobile, she'd sometimes come to watch my dance lessons.

"Why do you think that?" she probes.

"Because I can't help myself wanting to be more than just friends. It's become awkward, and I ran out on him yesterday. I can't just act normal around him. It's wrong to want your best friend, but I can't help it, and I hate it." I drop my head into my hands, not wanting her to see the tears that have been close to the surface all day.

"Does Darcy know any of this? How does he feel?" she asks.

"I can't talk to him about it," I whine. She doesn't understand.

"Why not?" The way she asks makes it sound so simple.

"Because then it will make it even more awkward." I sigh. "I just need to get over it so we can go back to being like we were."

"If you told him... What are you most afraid of?" Gran continues.

I take a deep breath. "That I'd lose him. He's not like me, Gran. He's not into guys, which makes this so messed up. We couldn't be friends like that, him wondering about me all the time. I can't tell him. I'll get over it and everything can go back to being normal again."

"Then you'll always live in fear," she says.

"What do you mean?" My plan is good. It's the only way.

"You'll always be wondering whether he knows, or if he'll find out. You'll always be afraid to get too close to him. My Reggie always used to quote an old proverb his grandfather taught him—that a life lived in fear is a life half-lived—you cannot carry on like that, Nicholas."

I don't believe her. I'm not risking it all by telling him. I scowl, ready to dismiss her, when my phone buzzes on the table.

Gran looks at it and then at me, giving me a soft smile.

I snatch it up, cradling it in my hands, almost too nervous to check it now that it has a message.

Darcy: Hey

I breathe a sigh of relief.

Nick: Hey

Darcy: I'm sorry

What does he have to be sorry for? It's me that's sorry.

Nick: I'm sorry too

Darcy: I miss you

My breath catches, and knowing that I'd made him feel that way by making it weird causes the tears to well up. I respond in our time-honoured way.

Nick: Miss you more

Darcy: Are we still friends?

I take a deep breath. It's time to get over myself and make this work.

Nick: Always best friends

We message for a couple more minutes and I tell him I'll be at the dance school in a couple of days. I feel relieved that we're talking. All I need to do now is make sure it doesn't get weird again.