Hello World (18 page)

‘Let me guess, you’re going to tell me it meant nothing, blah,
blah, blah,’ I say coldly. ‘Well good for you, but it’s really none of my
business. You wanted Charity’s attention, you got it. Congratulations.’ I
finally manage to move past Blake but keep facing him, anger fuelling my little
rant. ‘I hope the two of you are very happy together.’

Feeling slightly better, I start to march away.

‘Neve?’ I hear Blake call after me.

After an inner tug-of-war battle, I finally let myself turn
around again.

‘What?’ I snap, only feeling a little guilty for yelling at the
guy who has just saved my arse. Without warning, he crosses the space in
several strides and grabs hold of my shoulders, pulling me close and crushing
my lips against his.

At first I stay frozen in shock against him. Then something in
me crumbles and I wrap my arms around his neck, sinking against his muscular
chest.

This is the complete opposite to the kiss I had with Jay; there
is no awkwardness, no hesitation, no feeling the need to giggle. When he
finally lets me go I almost sway back in awe of what has just happened.

‘You’re freezing,’ he says softly, running a hand along my arms,
rows of goose bumps visible. ‘I’ll make you a deal, come back to the club to get
your jacket, or wait outside and I’ll fetch it, and then let me drive you home.
Deal?’

I nod numbly and follow him back. I decide to go back into the
club, partly because of the cold outside and partly from fear that the two guys
are still lurking around. Blake takes my hand and guides me through the crowds
until we find our booth again and I pull my jacket back on, taking comfort in
the familiar material.

He leads me back down towards the bar and then comes to a stop.

‘Wait right here, I’ve just got to grab the car keys from
Dixie,’ Blake says, and again I nod.

The band is still playing their loud music but the end of the
song comes to an abrupt stop as a figure beckons towards the lead singer. A few
groans erupt around the club but the singer ignores them, kneeling down on the
stage to listen to the person. The lead singer breaks into a smirk and nods,
signalling to one of his managers and band members before returning to the
microphone.

‘Okay, so I’ve just had a song request for the beautiful birthday
girl,’ the lead singer grins mischievously. A spot light appears and finds
Charity in the crowd. She blushes and then makes a big sort of ‘oh who, me?’
gesture. ‘And hey, the guy even wanted to sing it himself, so lets all welcome
him to the stage, eh?’

The figure the lead singer had been talking to is handed a mic
and leaps up onto the stage. When the lights reveal him my jaw drops open.

‘Everyone having a good night?’ Blake yells into the mic, only
to be rewarded by cheers from the crowd. Charity looks like she might faint
with delight. ‘So, my friend bought me this album, and what can I say, this one
song just reminds me of you, so…’ he trails off, and the band takes that as
their cue to start playing.

The music starts playing and I raise an eyebrow, the music intro
familiar to me. It’s the intro to
Paint
You Wings,
from the All Time Low album I’d bought him for Christmas.

Blake finds me in the crowd and winks, bringing the mic up to
his mouth.

I’m not quite sure on all of the lyrics, but it certainly has
something in there about Charity being a princess who isn’t worth saving, and a
number of metaphors of how much of a general cow she can be.

Quite the birthday present.

Then he breaks into the chorus and I cast a glance over at
Charity. It’s safe to say the smug grin has been well and truly wiped off her
face. Blake finishes the first chorus and while the short instrumental is
playing, thrusts his fist triumphantly into the air.

The club erupts into applause and I just stand there shaking my
head in disbelief, my mouth still hanging open and my hand pressed over it.
Blake does a last little salute before jumping back off the stage, other people
high-fiving him or slapping him on the back.

My eyebrow is still raised when Blake reaches me.

‘Shall we get going?’ he grins, holding out a hand.

‘I really think we should,’ I laugh, taking his hand. The two of
us then get out of the club as fast as we possibly can, only stopping when we
are out in the street and the club is no longer in sight. Then we collapse into
laughter.

‘I cannot believe you just did that!’ I exclaim, struggling to
find my breath. One look at Blake has me in hysterics again.

‘Hey, it was either that or Taylor Swift’s
We are Never Ever, Ever, Getting Back Together.
’

‘You’re an absolute arse, Blake Ellsworth,’ I state, although I
can’t help the grin plastered on my face.

Blake shrugs, his eyes glistening mischievously. ‘I’m sure it
won’t affect her status in anyway, she’ll still be the Queen by the end of the
night. Besides, I think it got my message across pretty well.’ Then he shuffles
his feet uncomfortably. ‘Look Neve, seriously, in the club with Charity-’

But I just place a finger of his lips to cut him off.

‘Nothing is going to happen with her again, right? Not even as a
summer hook up?’ I raise an eyebrow hopefully. He shakes his head, my finger
still preventing him from talking. ‘Then I think we should just put it all down
to alcohol induced stress and forget about it. Sound good?’

This time Blake breaks into a big grin and removes my finger
from my lips so he can move in to kiss me again, and this time I don’t freeze
up in shock. I allow myself to relax and let my fingers tangle in his hair,
taking comfort in his strong yet gentle arms around me.

Subconsciously, I realise I’m kissing someone, breaking down
these walls I’ve built around myself, allowing myself to feel something other
than pain. Allowing myself to be happy.

And it doesn’t feel bad.

It feels anything but.

Yet even so, something in the pit of my stomach stirs
uncomfortably and I know that if I’m going to go through with this, if I’m
going to try and make whatever
this
is with Blake work, I have to come clean. I have to tell him everything. I have
to truly let him in to my world.

Mentally groaning to myself, I pull away and sigh, tugging on
his shirt and averting my gaze.

‘Blake, before anything happens, there is some stuff I have to
tell you.’

‘You’re not gunna tell you’re a lesbian or a man are you?’ Blake
frowns, not dropping his arms away from me. I laugh and raise an eyebrow.

‘That’s happened before?’

Blake’s cheeks blush ever so slightly.

‘More often than you would think, actually.’

I shake my head, a small smile playing on my lips and lace my
hand through his, pulling him towards a bench a little further down the street.

I pull in a deep breath and take a few moments to put my
thoughts into words before letting them tumble out in a jumble of sentences. I
tell him everything; about Alex, about Kai and school, the text to everyone, my
counselling sessions, even the argument with my Grandmother. Finally though, I
tell him about how I really met Jay.

Blake stays quiet as I talk, nodding along to show me he’s
listening but not interrupting, squeezing my hand supportively when I start to
choke up on words. But when I finish, he’s still silent, staring ahead of him
and trying to take in everything I’ve just said.

‘Blake?’ I say softly after several more moments of silence pass
over us.

‘I’m so sorry,’ he says, finally looking at me. His voice is
thick with emotion. ‘I had no idea… I should have realised something…’

‘Well, I’m quite good at hiding it,’ I laugh sadly. ‘But these
past few weeks… you and Jay…’ I start, my eyes welling up. I move to sit on my
knees on the bench, facing in his direction and take another deep breath. ‘You
guys are something I never thought I would have. You two changed my world… but
I get it if this is too much for you… if you want to get up and walk away right
now I wouldn’t blame you…’ I trail off.

Blake’s eyes widen and he shakes his head, turning to face me
too. ‘Now why the hell would I want to do that?’ he says softly, tucking a
piece of red hair behind my ear. Before I can answer he interrupts me.
‘Everyone has something they have to deal with, and everyone feels like they
have to deal with it on their own, no matter how small or big. Now you tell me,
after everything you’ve just said, how I have the option to just walk away? I’m
not going anywhere, come here,’ he says, patting the space on the bench next to
him.

Silently, I crawl into his open arms and lean my head on his
chest, squeezing my eyes shut to try and block off the water in my eyes.

We sit like that for a moment before I sit up again and look up
at him, only a small part of me wondering how much I must look like a panda by
now.

‘Thank you,’ I say quietly. Blake smiles and wipes away the wet
patches on my cheeks. Then he frowns slightly.

‘I do have one question though…’ he starts awkwardly. ‘You and
Alex, did you guys ever, you know, date…?’

I blink, the question taking me by surprise before bursting into
laughter.

‘No, we never dated,’ I say, still laughing at the thought.

An odd pang of something settles in my stomach at the thought
but I try to push it away.

‘Alex means - meant - the world to me, but no, we never dated,’
I confirm. Blake relaxes slightly.

‘So you weren’t… you didn’t like him in that way…?’

‘No!’ I say, my cheeks blushing slightly.

‘That’s good to know,’ he grins. ‘So, can I kiss you now?’ he
asks, raising an eyebrow. I smirk and move in closer in order to let our lips
meet. As the rest of the world melts away, feelings of happiness and relief
flood through me.

And just the tiniest bit of guilt.

‘Okay, so
I may be slightly hung over.’

I cringe
then as Jay’s laughter rattles through my skull, groaning before I rest my head
on the dashboard. Other than a small pounding in my head though, I feel fine.
I’m just waiting for the painkillers to set in.

‘Whatever,’
Jay smirks, nodding goodbye to Charlie, who is standing at the front door of
the house, before pulling out of the street. ‘You’re sober enough to give me
directions right?’

I stick my
tongue out at him.

‘Shut up,
it’s just a headache, everybody gets those. As for the directions, I don’t know
if I could point you in the right direction either way,’ I mutter, pulling out
the map and squinting at it. ‘Where’s a boy scout when you need one?’

‘How do
you know I’m not one?’ Jay winks. I snort.

‘Please,
you have too much of an evil streak. Plus, I bet boy scouts don’t spend half
their time killing zombies on games,’ I retort, rolling my eyes. Then I reach
around my neck and pull off the long piece of string with the house key
attached, laying it on the map. Jay glances at me with amused interest.

‘You’re
still wearing it,’ he comments.

I look
from him to the key.

‘The key? Well
yeah, otherwise I’ll lose it.’

Jay smiles
and shakes his head. ‘I meant the necklace I got you.’

My gaze
immediately drops to my collarbone, where the gold carousel necklace still hangs
there. I smile fondly. ‘Yeah, I haven’t taken it off since Christmas.’

‘So, now
that you tackled your first party last night, can I persuade you to come to
Declan’s party next weekend?’ Jay asks slyly, changing the topic.

I snort.
‘I dunno, two parties in two weeks? That sounds like the beginning of a social
life to me,’ I say lightly, trying to hide the uneasiness in my voice. Going to
a party where I don’t know anyone is one thing, but going to one with everyone
from school? I don’t know if I’m ready to cross that line yet.

‘It’ll be
fine. It’s just a house party, no biggie,’ Jay urges. ‘And I’ll be right beside
you the whole time.’

‘I’ll
think about it,’ I tell him at last. Then I turn on the radio to signal an end
to the topic. As always though, we can never decide on a radio station.

The
journey takes about an hour or so, and runs a lot smoother than the trip up to
Hunstanton. It feels as though in no time at all, we are pulling into the
little town of March.

I say
town, it’s more like a village, and reminds me a lot of the one we had to go
searching for a mechanic in. At first it strikes me as an odd place for my
parents to have lived, I swear Charlie mentioned once or twice that my Dad was
a doctor at a large hospital in some city, but I guess he could have always
commuted there and back.

Mum
though, being the artist that Charlie claimed her to be, would have found this
spot perfect. It’s so picturesque, even in winter, with lines of pretty
cottages and houses. Small shops litter the street, even a traditional sweet
shop, and a towering church completes the scene. I can almost imagine her
wandering around with sketchbook in hand, picking up inspiration.

Before my
imagination can run too far away with me, one shop in particular catches my
attention and I tell Jay to pull over. Grinning, I get out of the car and cross
the street, pushing through the white painted door, a little bell chiming as I
do.

Immediately,
the smell of paint hits me and my smile widens. I’m standing in a little
gallery, numerous watercolour and acrylic paintings hanging from the crowded
walls. I hear the little bell chime again and suddenly Jay is beside me,
looking in my direction with amusement.

‘Shut up,’
I tell him. It’s not my fault I get excited over these sorts of things. In awe,
I take in the place, looking in detail at every piece of painting I can see.

One wall,
I notice, is covered with a range of drawings done by younger children, crude
pictures of green fields and bright blue skies. Alongside that are some other
pieces and I note that there is banner claiming the wall to be ‘
the wall of fame
.’ A leaflet for art
classes is pinned in the middle of it.

A door
opens and an old man with greying hair in loose dungarees appears behind the
counter, regarding us curiously.

‘Can I
help you?’ He asks politely.

‘Oh, we’re
just passing through,’ Jay replies but I ignore them both, my gaze travelling
to the back wall of the store where a large painting takes up most of the wall.

Drawn to
it, I tilt my head to the side in concentration and float towards the painting,
something feeling familiar and comforting about it but when I look at the
signature its not one I recognise and is faded from age.

The
painting is alive with colour, dramatic swirls and waves filling the space.
With an artist’s eye, I follow every line and curl. It’s the sort of painting
that most people would look at and criticise for being just a canvas someone
has thrown paint at, but I can see the fine detail and the time that has gone
into it.

‘How much
is this?’ I ask spontaneously, surprising myself with my question.

The
gallery owner smiles and shakes his head.

‘I’m
afraid that’s not for sale, it was done by one of the residents a while ago,’
he replies fondly.

Feeling a
twinge of disappointment, I let it go and we continue on our way. We find the
street and with eager anticipation I count down the house numbers until my eyes
finally settle on it.

21 Roselyn Avenue.

For a
moment, all I can do is stare.

This is where my life began.

Silently,
I step out of the car and push through the little front gate, walking halfway
up the stone path before stopping again.

Desperately,
I try to dig out some sort of memory of this place but I find nothing, I was
too young to remember this house when I left it. Yet, staring up at my past,
something comforting and warming washes over me.

The house
is Edwardian in style, with huge bay windows poking out of the front of the
house. Orange bricks blink down at me and the beams have been painted black,
fitting in with other houses down the road. The house looks the perfect size
for a three-person family, not too small, yet not too big either.

It looks
deserted though after years of abandonment and heavy curtains have been pulled
over the windows. Weeds and grass cover the front garden, making the stone path
barely visible.

‘This is
it,’ I whisper. Beside me, Jay squeezes my hand.

‘Hey!
That’s private land! We don’t want any trouble around here, kids. Now, scram,’
an angry voice suddenly shouts. It takes me a moment to realise the voice is
talking to us.

I spin
around to find a middle-aged man with a white beard and a bit of a belly
wobbling over to us across the street. I quickly pull the key from around my
neck and hold it up.

‘I used to
live here,’ I say quickly. The man stops in his tracks and eyes me curiously.

‘You’re Dr
Willows’ kid?’ he asks dubiously.

My face
brightens. ‘You knew my dad?’

The man
studies me for a moment before deciding I’m telling the truth and breaking into
a grin.

‘My, my,
Neve Willows. I knew you when you just two years old, look how you’ve grown!’
he chuckles, holding out a hand for me to shake. ‘The name’s Hugo, I was your
old neighbour.’ Then Hugo’s face sobers and he looks back at the house. ‘When I
heard about your parents, I could hardly believe it. He was a good man, your
dad. He helped me out a lot when he first moved here.’

‘Thank
you,’ I say, smiling. Hugo bids us goodbye and I turn to face the house again,
taking a deep breath. I turn to Jay. ‘Ready?’

‘Ready,’
he grins and I slot the key into the lock, giving the door a firm shove with my
shoulder in order to let us in.

We are
immediately greeted with an onslaught of dust and I wave frantically at the
air, waiting for it to settle before moving further into the house.

The
electrics had been disconnected years ago so we pull out the torches Jay has
thought to take with us to survey the place. The first room I enter is the
lounge and I march straight over to the bay windows, ripping the curtains open
to let some natural light into the room before looking around.

The place
has a cosy feel to it, with blue pale sofas swamped in brightly coloured
cushions, some looking like they have been hand-made, and a traditional
fire-place. The mantle is home to several photos, several of Mum and Dad and
others with me in. I walk over and pick up one in a small dark frame.

It’s of
the three of us in a park. Mum and Dad have their heads pressed together, me
sitting on my Mum’s lap with Dad’s arm around me, all of us grinning madly at
the camera. I must be about two, and I have a pink bunny-rabbit toy clutched
tightly in my tiny hands.

‘Red,
you’ll want to see this,’ Jay calls from upstairs. I’ve almost forgotten the
boy is with me.

I follow
his voice and see him standing outside a room, pointing up at my name painted
in multiple colours on the wooden door. My old room.

Curiously,
and a little nervously, I push the door open and take baby-steps into the
space.

Although
someone has tidied up, toys are bursting from boxes and bags, and a small white
bed with drawers decorated with pink flowers is pressed up against one of the
pink painted walls. The walls have also been decorated with tiny hand-painted
ballerinas dancing across all four sides, some jumping gracefully whilst others
spin and some pose delicately as if expecting a round of applause.

My mother
must have painted them.

A hanging
mobile dangles over the bed, little feather butterflies hovering above where I
used to sleep. A white shelf is cluttered with various items like jewellery
boxes, ornaments and other toys.

Lying on
the bed is the pink bunny toy I had been holding in the photo downstairs.

‘Mum liked
the colour pink, huh?’ I say quietly, grinning as I look around the room. The
whole place has my eyes starting to water.

Jay wraps
his arm around me and I hug his waist, still keeping my gaze fixed on the room.

‘No matter
what you’ve ever thought, you have proof now,’ Jay says softly, squeezing me
tightly. ‘Your parents were good people, and you were very special to them.
Just seeing this is evidence enough, so don’t ever doubt that, okay?’

I let out
a small laugh and nod against his chest.

‘Now, I
want to see what’s in the attic,’ Jay announces, pointing upwards. I frown.

‘Why?’ I
ask curiously. Jay winks at me.

‘Because
the interesting stuff is always in the attic, come on.’ He leaves the room and
paces back into the hall, instructing me to go and find a ladder or something
for him to step on while he tries to get the hatch open.

I briefly
pop into my parent’s room, more photos and clutter in there, and then poke my
head around the door to a small room, which is rather bare, as if just used for
storage. I stop then and a thought hits me.

This is a
four bedroom house, although only three bedrooms had been in use since one of
the rooms has been converted into a study. So what was this room intended for?
Were my parents planning to have another baby? If they hadn’t died, could I
have had a little brother or sister?

A pang of
longing passes through me and I grip the doorway to keep myself up.

‘Nevermind,
I’ve got it!’ Jay announces from the hall, bringing me out of my own world.
When I reach him again, he already has the ladder into the attic pulled down.
‘Ladies first,’ he winks. I roll my eyes and quickly test the sturdiness of the
ladder before pulling myself up and swinging my torch around to peak through
the darkness.

The attic
is huge and even dustier than the rest of the house. When I put my hand on the
floor I cringe, shaking off the layer of dust imprinted onto me and quickly
rise to my feet.

Yet as I
take a closer look, I realise that this isn’t just an attic for storage, this
was mum’s own little art studio. Plenty of bare bulbs and other light fittings
have been put in place to illuminate the space accordingly and several stools
and easels are packed into one corner.

Boxes of
dry paint sets and other materials are stacked by the easels and giant canvases
covered in brown paper are stacked against the walls. I move over those first,
revealing the paintings beneath and staring at them in awe.

They
varied completely, some picturesque scenes and fields, others are still life’s
or elegant flowers and some are just movements of colour and patterns. I then
notice a pile of sketchbooks on the side and flick through them, stopping dead
on one of the pages. A sketch of the painting in the gallery, the one the shop
assistant refuses to sell, looks back up at me.