No one’s about. I grab the post from the kitchen table and flip through bills and postcards and junk mail, throwing everything down again when I’m done. Nothing from the mysterious journal-sender. Perhaps the Gemma drawing from yesterday will be the only time I’ll ever hear from him. The idea scares me – because without him how will I ever find out what happened? – and so I push it away.
I make myself some toast and a cup of tea. I’m guessing Mum and Chris are on one of their mummy–son outings, probably slagging you off and swiping through Tinder in search of a safe replacement. It’s nice outside and I decide I could do with some air. I grab my jacket just as Dad comes puffing through the front door. I try to shoulder past him but he grabs my wrist like he’s about to judo flip my ass.
“Hold on, Dylan.” He’s blocking the door, and unless I want to drop-kick my old man I have to hear him out. “You should know you really upset your mum yesterday.”
“Oh really?”
“You were rude.”
“I slammed a door.”
He breathes through his nose and his gaze flits to the ceiling. “I understand you may have overheard a private conversation between your mum and your brother. That was…unfortunate.”
“No fucking kidding.”
“Dylan,” he barks at me. “I’m sure they meant well.”
“Oh, did they? Because it sounded to me like they were doubting my relationship with the person I loved most in this whole shitty world. That Ellis was somehow not good enough for me.” I laugh like it’s the best joke I’ve ever heard. “I was in awe of him, Dad. Do you even understand that? I was inaweof him, because he was so far beyond good enough it isn’t even funny. The fact that he would even settle for someone like me—”
My dad’s face turns this awful shade of red. “Don’t sell yourself short. That boy—”
“What? You shook hands with him the night I came out. You congratulated us. Was that all a lie?”
“I don’t care that you’re gay,” he mutters, “and you can choose to believe that or not. But gay or straight, your mum and I – and yes, even your brother – we only want what’s best for you. And this, what you’re doing now, giving up school, throwing away your future, do you think it’s what Ellis would have wanted? Because I didn’t know this amazing kid you’re talking about – I never got much of a chance to know him – but I’m pretty sure he’d be appalled to see you like this.”
Future?Myfuture? Strangely, that isn’t something I’ve even thought about. All I can concentrate on right now is finding out who left you to die, El. Anything beyond that is just a blank.
I thrust my face into my dad’s. “You don’t get to tell me what El would want. Not ever. Now will you please get out of my way?”
He looks like he’s about to start in on me again, but then just sighs and stands aside.
“Dylan,” he says as I pass, “there is something you should know. I’d rather you heard it from me.”
But right now, I don’t want to hear anything my dad has to say. I put my head down and storm out of the house.
I’m halfway along the drive when I consider calling Mike. But no, that’s monumentally selfish. He’s probably wiped out after the party. And so I make a decision: I’m going to the lake. Heading back there is asking for trouble, I know, but I slept soundly last night, and that feels like a betrayal. With images of the lake fresh in my mind, I won’t sleep so easy tonight.
As I walk I think over what Gemma said:People like Ellis will always be vulnerable, just because they won’t play the silly games that everyone else plays – to fit in, to be popular, to feel wanted. They’re too brave for that. Too fucking brave to be anything less than what they are.
There’s an ugly truth to this I don’t want to acknowledge. You were always facing down what people thought of you, El, and though they were forced to turn away when you called them on their bullshit, they still thought it. Is that why you died? Because when you were most vulnerable someone who couldn’t accept you held your life in their hands? For some reason I think of that couple in the hospital the day of your aunt’s accident, the ones with the sullen eyes, and I wonder what they would have done if they saw you drowning.
I reach the lake and wander slowly down to the shore. Resting on the shingle there’s a small collection of flowers. I hunker over and examine a few of the tributes. One arrangement of purple, yellow and white has a card from Julia that simply reads,Rest well, Angel boy xxx. I know the name of these flowers now. Violas. Itwasyou who planted them outside the flats, bringing beauty like you always did.
A huge bouquet to one side demands attention. I squat down because the writing’s so small:In memory of a truly amazing teammate. With love, Ollie x.It’s heartfelt and touching and weird. I think back to last night and Ollie’s behaviour at the party. What is going on with him?
I spend the whole day at the lake. Memories don’t invade; I don’t really think about much at all, and feel as guilty as hell about it. The sun’s setting when I drag myself to my feet and start towards home.
Lights are on in the sitting room. I slip through the front door and I’m heading upstairs when Chris comes out of the kitchen.
“Hey, bro,” he says, a carrot clamped between his teeth. “Mail for you.”
I tear back downstairs and grab the envelope from him. No postage this time, hand-delivered. But the same packaging and the same unidentifiable handwriting.
“When did this arrive?”
“S’morning. I meant to tell you, but you were still asleep.”
“You fucking idiot!”
