probably spend some time with him here or maybe a short visit to the park? If we agree a time you need to be back by, that is. I’m sure your dad would be okay with it.’
The thought’s tempting. Eloise is away and I’m lonely without her. I don’t have much else to do and would rather be out and about doing something than stuck inside. Besides, the boy seemed okay – nice – although he did ask a lot of questions.
‘Leila? I can send him on his way if—’
‘I’ll see him,’ I reply in a rush. ‘Maybe we’ll hang out in the garden first?’
‘That’s a good idea,’ Grandad says. Picking up his cup of tea, he tries to hide a smile behind it but fails.
Blushing again – my pale skin is so stupid – I walk through the dark dining room and into the hallway, pulling open the door Grandad’s left a few inches ajar. The boy is leaning against the doorframe and I surprise him so much he stumbles over the threshold and lands at my feet.
He looks up at me from the carpet, odd-coloured eyes wide, and shrugs his shoulders, laughing at himself. ‘Hello, again.’
I giggle. ‘Hi.’
As he picks himself up, he dusts off his faded clothes and smiles. The action pulls the scar above his lip tighter. ‘I w-wondered if y-you wanted to come out? We didn’t finish chatting yesterday.’
I shrug casually, ‘Sure. Do you wanna go in the garden? There are some cool trees to hang in?’ My cheeks scald bright red. I must sound like such a baby. I think he’s older than me, so he’s probably used to going down the park with gangs of kids.
‘Sure,’ he nods. ‘I’m Jake.’
‘I’m Leila,’ I answer shyly.
***
Jake and I end up spending the week together. He’s intriguing, different to other boys I know from school, who are all loud and loutish. He’s quiet, more thoughtful. He also has a confidence I wish I had. He just seems comfortable with who he is and what he thinks about things.
After that first morning in Grandad’s back garden when we sit in the lower branches of the apple tree, idly chatting and getting to know each other, we spend most days down the local park. We wrap up in parka coats (mine brand new and boxy, his worn out and too small for him) and ride our BMX bikes (mine shiny and bright, his with a broken handle and covered in rust). I don’t say anything or ask any questions though, because I don’t want to embarrass him.
We talk about films, music, and books when we get to the park. Jake hates school because he says he’s no good at it, but he likes to read at night when his parents think he’s sleeping, borrowing books from the school library. Of course, he’s between schools now. Feeling sorry for him, I lend him one of my Harry Potter collection on the promise he’ll return it on Friday when we leave.
White mist from the cold hangs in clouds in front of our faces while we sit on the swings chatting, hands wrapped around the icy chains. Shivering is something we become used to. On a couple of the days, Jake is quieter than usual and doesn’t want to talk, wincing occasionally but not saying why, so I bring my sketchpad with me. I draw for hours on end in the wooden Wendy house that’s usually for the smaller kids. It’s empty save for us, because of the wintry chill.
Wearing fingerless gloves so I can draw, I share my sandwich and thermos of hot chocolate with him as he watches my left hand fly over the pages. He doesn’t seem to mind the silence when I draw, just appearing relieved to be out of his house. Every afternoon when it gets closer to home time, a strange tension comes over him. His shoulders creep up, his face gets hard and he becomes even quieter. By Thursday, I feel like I know him enough to be concerned.
‘Is everything all right at home?’ I ask hesitantly, leaning towards him.
‘Everything’s fine,’ he snaps, looking away.
He doesn’t talk to me for the next hour, so I don’t ask him about it again.
Even though we’ve worked out he’s nearly two years older than me, he never makes me feel stupid or childish. He asks questions about my drawings and where I get my ideas from and why I enjoy it so much, and says my art is really good. I tell him stuff about Mum leaving as I twirl my bracelet around my wrist, and sometimes when we talk, Jake puts his finger out and flicks the heart charm so it swings like a pendulum. On the morning I’m leaving, I go into a panic when we’re at the park, thinking I’ve lost it, frantically checking my wrist and pockets and looking around on the ground but not able to find it. Jake calms me down and puts his hands up inside my coat sleeve, slowly easing the bracelet into sight from where it got caught on the inside of the sleeve elastic. Beaming at him, I go to hug him a thank you, but he backs away. Awkwardly, I let my hands drop to my sides.
When it’s time for me and Dad to leave, I’m sad to say goodbye to Jake, and realise I’ll miss him. He’s been so easy to talk to, and the thought of leaving him behind fills me with sadness.
‘This week’s been nice,’ I say, as we stand facing each other next to Dad’s loaded van. There’s a lump in my throat. I’m leaving everything I know behind and going into the unknown. ‘Thanks.’
Jake nods his head, putting his hands in his coat pockets. His odd-coloured eyes – one green, one brown – are solemn and the scar cutting into his lip looks paler today, especially against the starkness of his messy, thick black hair.
I’m about to gather my courage to ask if we should maybe stay in touch when Jake steps back, and Dad opens the van door behind me. We’ve already said our goodbyes to Grandad Ray inside the house, and he said it’s better he doesn’t come out. I know he finds it hard to show his feelings.
‘Come on, love,’ Dad chides, ‘we need to get on the road. We’ve got a couple of hours ahead of us and unpacking to do at the other end.’
‘Okay, sorry,’ I murmur, my gaze still on Jake’s face. I wait for him to say something but he’s in one of his quieter moods again. ‘Okay, bye then,’ I mumble.
‘Bye,’ he replies, as he steps back.
Turning away, I climb up into the van. Buckling my seatbelt, I wind the window down and glance at him, checking one more time that he’s not going to say anything, but his mouth is in a straight line. His eyes are blank. It’s like I’ve already left.
As Dad starts the engine and releases the handbrake, I raise my hand to wave at Jake, and he suddenly darts forward and slams his hand on the door. In turn, Dad slams the brakes on.
‘What?’ I hold my breath.
‘I’ve still got your book!’ he says anxiously.
I smile, ‘You’re enjoying it. Finish it and then give it to Grandad Ray. I’ll get it from him next time I’m back.’ I nod. ‘Maybe I’ll see you then?’ I say in a rush, holding my breath.
‘You really want to?’
‘Yes.’
‘I’d like that.’ The blankness from his eyes fades a bit. ‘You sure about the book?’
Dad revs the engine.
I roll my eyes. ‘Yes. Keep
