Flynn tugged me further down onto the mattress and leaned over me.
‘God,’ he whispered, ‘I thought I’d never get you away from her.’ He grinned. ‘So, what did you think?’
I smiled at him. ‘They’re all great,’ I whispered back. I was pretty sure he hadn’t shut the bedroom door, and I didn’t want them to overhear me. ‘Siobhan was
less shy than before. And Caitlin’s sweet and your mum’s lovely. Really kind and welcoming and warm.’
Flynn beamed at me. ‘She likes you,’ he said, bending down and nibbling my ear. ‘I know she does.’
‘Yeah, well she freakin’ worships you,’ I said, closing my eyes as he ran his hand down my shirt.
His face was warm against my cheek. ‘I know,’ he said.
‘Big-head,’ I said, thumping him gently on the arm.
‘Mmmn.’ Flynn kissed my mouth hungrily, flicking the top button of my shirt open with one hand. He rolled slightly more over me, pushing my legs apart with his knee. ‘God, I
meant that about starting and stopping Riv, I can’t . . .’
I suddenly remembered the open door and how close the other rooms in the flat were.
‘Stop it.’ I pushed his hand away, pulling my shirt together. ‘You haven’t even shut the door.’
‘Can’t.’ Flynn grimaced, moving his hand down to the bottom of my shirt and expertly undoing the button there. ‘It was Mum’s condition of me having you in here.
She’s not used to me having girls round.’
We carried on for a bit, kissing and touching each other, but as soon as Flynn started trying to take off my bra again I pushed his hand away. ‘I can’t take off my clothes with your
mum and sisters a couple of metres away,’ I hissed.
He drew back again and grinned at me. ‘You know you might as
well
be a freakin’ Catholic.’
He rolled onto his back with a sigh.
‘Okay then, you big prude,’ he said. ‘I suppose you want to talk.’
I snuggled against his chest, snaking my arm across his muscular stomach. I sighed contentedly. ‘You’re like a different person here,’ I said. ‘Like with tidying your
space and not shutting the door. I can’t imagine you doing that for anyone else. I mean, look how rude you are to Mr Nichols.’
‘I don’t think Mr Nichols is all that bothered about my sex life,’ Flynn said with a grin.
‘You know what I mean.’ I squeezed his arm. ‘You’re different with your mum and Siobhan and Caitlin. Less . . . less angry somehow. More relaxed.’
He looked sideways at me. ‘I’m not very relaxed right now, River. Can’t we just . . .’
‘No,’ I said. I sat up and fastened my buttons.
He lay on his back looking up at me. His eyes were laughing and yearning and so hot I felt as if I was melting.
‘I want to make love with you,’ he said.
‘Yeah, right, Flynn.’ I laughed. ‘The door’s open.’
He sat up and held my hand. ‘I mean it.’ His eyes burned into me. ‘Not here. Not now. But soon. I want to be with you. Properly.’
My heart skipped a beat as I realised what he meant. I stared at him, my mind whirling.
‘Telling you everything, tonight, it’s like this wall’s come down.’ Flynn squeezed my hand. ‘I’ve never felt like this about anyone, Riv. You drive me crazy.
Like when we were eating earlier, all I could think about was how you looked when I took your top off. And when we’re kissing and touching and . . .’ He leaned closer to me. ‘I
don’t want to stop,’ he said hoarsely. ‘I want to feel all of you. With all of me. It’s what’s supposed to happen.’
My heart pounded. ‘I don’t know,’ I said slowly. I couldn’t think straight. I wanted him. I knew I did. But it was too sudden. We’d only just made up after that
fight in the minicab and now here he was, zooming into tenth gear.
Flynn took my hand and pressed it against his cheek, his own hand on top. His hand totally swamped mine. I couldn’t even see my wrist under his.
‘What don’t you know?’ he said. ‘I’ve opened up to you. Told you everything.’
No you haven’t. You haven’t told me you love me.
‘It’s a bit soon,’ I mumbled. ‘We’ve only been going out a few weeks.’
Flynn raised his eyebrows at me. ‘Romeo and Juliet got married in less time.’ He pulled my hand across his face and kissed the palm, very gently.
Trust him. Trust Flynn to use my own words against me.
‘Can’t you shut up about that frigging play,’ I whispered.
I felt his mouth turn up, into a grin, as he kissed his way down to my wrist. I shivered. He felt so good. So right. I loved him more than I could put into words.
And yet it was too soon. Too rushed. It wasn’t enough just knowing things about him, I realised. I needed to trust how he felt. I needed the proof that he felt about me like I did about
him. That he wasn’t going to storm off again over nothing.
I needed to be sure he loved me.
After about an hour, Flynn’s mum suggested he should walk me down to the bus stop. While he went to the bathroom, she drew me to one side.
‘I’m glad he’s seeing you,’ she smiled.
I smiled shyly back at her.
She sighed. ‘He works so hard and makes out he’s so tough. And God help you if you suggest that he might not be able to make it all on his own, but underneath there’s a part of
him that’s hurting. You know?’
I nodded, swallowing.
‘And that hurting makes him angry. Every time he goes out I worry that he’ll do something stupid. You know, give out to someone who upsets him or get in a fight.’ She rolled
her eyes. ‘When I saw his face after that thing with you and your friend . . .’ She put her hand on my arm. ‘Not that I’m saying he was wrong to step in. But sometimes it
isn’t
the right thing to do. Sometimes it’s better to walk away. And I worry he won’t know how, and then . . . and then all his big dreams’ll come crashing down and .
. .’
Flynn appeared from the bathroom.
‘Ready?’ he said.
‘Sure.’ I looked at his mum.
‘Bye, River,’ she said. ‘Look after yourself – and Paddy. All right?’
That day changed everything between me and Flynn. I felt closer to him than ever. And yet . . . I felt he was pushing me over sex in that intense way he did everything. It
wasn’t that I didn’t want to do it. I did. I
really
did. But I didn’t want to rush it.
Part of me wished I could be like Emmi. To her, sex was just another thing – an ordinary, everyday thing. But to me – with Flynn – it had to be perfect.
We met that weekend, on Sunday, and spent the whole afternoon on our own in the park. It was so cold we could see our breath in front of our faces.
Flynn had swallowed his pride and brought the jacket his mum had bought him for two pounds. It
was
pretty disgusting – fake leather with a thick grey lining. He didn’t put it
on until we were completely out of sight of any other people. Then he wrapped it round us both and we kissed for hours.
Kissed and talked. About his family. About his dad. About the times his dad had turned up drunk at the flat – or followed Flynn and Siobhan after school – or threatened Flynn’s
mum where she worked. I held him tightly, knowing that he’d never told anyone any of these things before.
We talked about the play. I was nervous about having an audience. He wasn’t. There were just a couple more days of rehearsals, then the dress rehearsal on Wednesday, with the performances
on the Thursday and Friday.
We talked about doing it, too. Well, I did. I had to.
It was dark and we’d gone down to the part of the park that was furthest from the road. A disused stone fountain stood in the middle of a little square, surrounded by four park
benches.
We lay down on one of the benches and kissed and touched. Flynn told me again that he wanted to make love. I said I wanted to wait.
‘But
why
?’ Flynn groaned, pressing against me. ‘It’s the right thing to do,’ he kept saying. ‘The next thing. The only thing.’
I couldn’t see it like that. I wanted him. But I wanted more time, too. In the end I told him I just wanted to wait until the play was over. He accepted that, and we wandered home, our
arms wrapped round each other.
I told myself I was blissfully happy, but in a tiny corner of my brain this little voice was saying,
Why’s it going to be different after the play, River? What’s going to have
changed in five days?
The next few days were really busy. Mr Nichols was in a terrible mood – he spent most of Monday’s rehearsal shouting at anyone who forgot their lines or laughed in
the wrong place.
I could see Flynn was on the verge of losing it. Of just walking out on the whole thing. But he somehow managed to keep his temper in check. I knew he was going through his scenes on autopilot
– partly because his lines lacked the same level of feeling I’d seen before and partly because it was so obvious what was really on his mind whenever he looked over at me. Still, Flynn
on autopilot was better than most of the other actors in the play put together.
To be honest, I felt quite sorry for Mr Nichols. Apart from Emmi and Flynn and Alex, no one really spoke naturally or moved confidently around the stage. Grace constantly forgot her lines. Daisy
remembered hers, but was never standing in the right place. And as for James Molloy – he seemed to have lost what little confidence he’d once had, and couldn’t be heard from a
metre in front of the stage, let alone at the back of the assembly hall.
‘It seats five hundred people,’ Mr Nichols roared. ‘How are they going to hear you IF YOU WHISPER?’
Poor James went bright red and did his next scene even quieter.
By Wednesday’s dress rehearsal Mr Nichols had started to lose his voice from all the shouting and was staggering around backstage clutching his throat and whispering last-minute directions
at anyone who would stand still long enough to listen to them.
I saw him draw Flynn and Emmi to one side and my heart sank. I knew he must be telling them it was time to put some real kisses in place.
I asked Emmi, very casually, afterwards what Mr Nichols had said.
‘Don’t use tongues,’ she said solemnly.
I stared at her. ‘What?’
She grinned. ‘I’m kidding. He said we should just see the kisses as part of the lines – and we should ignore anyone who laughs.’
During the dress rehearsal, I stood in the wings, anxiously watching the scene in which Romeo and Juliet meet. Despite what Flynn said I knew he was a little nervous. It was making him act
better. He was speaking with real feeling.
As Emmi fluttered out, it struck me how well suited they were. Attractive. Charismatic. Massively up for sex. I’d had those thoughts before, of course, but right now it was particularly
hard to see them, all dressed up in their elegant costumes, circling round each other.
My mind went back to that first rehearsal, when Flynn and I had answered all Mr Nichols’ questions about what Romeo and Juliet’s lines meant. These were
our
lines, I thought
jealously.
I stood, hidden by the curtains, waiting for the kiss. I was so intent on the scene in front of me I didn’t notice the other people gathering until two of the girls with non-speaking parts
from the year below me at school started whispering behind me.
‘Will they kiss each other for real?’ one of them hissed.
‘Course,’ the other replied. ‘Flynn will, anyway. Look at him – he
so
fancies her.’
‘Sssh.’ The first girl glanced sideways at me and sniggered.
Out of the corner of my eye, I could see both girls, hands over their mouths, red-faced, suppressing more giggles as they tried not to look at me.
My whole being burned with humiliation. On stage, Flynn was tracing his fingers down Emmi’s face. It was a simple gesture – soft and tender – and one he’d often made with
me. His eyes were so full of love, so intense. I could hardly believe he was acting. My guts seemed to hollow out as he leaned forwards and brushed his lips against hers.
This wasn’t supposed to be how it ended. Emmi was supposed to be ill so that I could go on in her place and he would be my Romeo and I would be his Juliet.
I remembered how Emmi had clung to him in our minicab after the fight in the pub alleyway. Jealousy rose inside me like a dark, thick poison, choking me.
I watched, helplessly, as they drew apart, still gazing into each other’s eyes.
The next line was my own cue.
I walked onto the stage. ‘
Madam, your mother craves a word with you
.’ My voice sounded hollow to my ears.
‘
What is her mother?
’ Flynn spoke his line without taking his eyes off Emmi.
I gave the Nurse’s answer mechanically, watching the way Emmi and Flynn held each other in their gaze.
A moment later and everyone apart from Emmi and I had left the stage.
As Emmi gave her next few lines, asking about Romeo – wanting to know his name and if he was married – she turned to me at last. Her face was flushed, her voice risen with
excitement.
A few moments later and we were done. As I followed Emmi to the edge of the stage, I searched for Flynn, but all I could see was the scenery for the balcony scene which was coming up in a
moment. The stage manager, Maz, had created a balcony out of some painted cardboard and a set of steps on wheels. Right now he was trying to push his construction onto the stage. Liam, the boy who
ran the props cupboard and was, supposedly, Maz’s assistant, was preventing him.
‘We don’t need the balcony yet,’ Liam hissed, pushing the scenery back into the wings so that it blocked the route off the stage.
Emmi and I stopped, unable to get any further.
‘Yes we
do
,’ Maz insisted. ‘It should be on stage
now
.’
Beyond the painted cardboard I could see Flynn backstage, checking something in his script, clearly oblivious to the argument over the scenery.
Then, out of nowhere, Alex marched over and planted himself in front of Flynn. He said something I couldn’t hear, but from the expression on his face he wasn’t happy. I caught my
breath as Flynn looked up slowly.
‘Oh God,’ Emmi murmured beside me.
‘Act 2 scenery, come on!’ Mr Nichols shouted from the hall.