I stumble after him, throwing a bag his way. He collects it with ease.
“You have your Moodles and Doodles…well, this is my secret place. I’ve been coming here ever since I spotted it on a family bike ride. Don’t ask. We abandoned them after Chris blindsided my dad and broke his ankle. Anyway, I kind of thought it looked romantic so I started imagining all these histories for it in my head.”
“I bet you researched the hell out of it. Typical Frecks.”
“Actually, I didn’t. I wanted it to be this blank canvas where I could imagine my own stories.”
I move the rotten board aside and we squeeze through into the porch and the echoey vastness of the nave. A burst of feathers erupts somewhere in the rafters; a flurry of winter birds tumbling through holes in the roof. Half the pews have fallen like dominos and most of the stained glass has been smashed, the eyes of the church blinded by metal sheets. But the light that plays through the roof gives it all a fairy-tale sadness that’s always haunted me.
I take El’s free hand and guide him down the central aisle.
“It’s got a kind of hideous beauty, don’t you think? I used to imagine it was once part of this huge abbey with choirs of monks chanting this amazing music.” I blush and I don’t care at all that El notices. “So there were once these two novices, Lukas and Matthew, who spent their days inside these cold stone walls. And while they prayed and fasted and praised God, they were always careful never to let their thoughts wander. But then one harvest time, Lukas was injured in the fields and was taken to Matthew’s infirmary. The wound was deep; fever set in. None of the remedies Matthew tried could stop the infection. It was while holding his brother’s hand on Lukas’s final night that Matthew admitted there had been moments between praying when his eyes had strayed to Lukas and, seeing his gaze returned, he knew Lukas had felt the same. But now it was too late. And so he crawled onto the bed beside his brother and took the dying Lukas in his arms, so that at least they might have this one honest moment together.”
El smiles. “And Lukas wakes up and kisses Matthew and they run away on a medieval cruise.”
I smile too. “It’s about missed chances, El. I could feel myself missing them back then. Back before we met. I don’t want to miss any more.”
I guide him to the north transept and the winding stairway hidden there.
“Is this safe?” El asks, climbing up behind me.
“I doubt it.”
High in the bell-less tower, a gentle wind stirs our hair. Laid out before us are acres of snowy countryside with Ferrivale and the blue glint of Hunter’s Lake beyond. I move across the creaking floorboards and introduce El to my non-human best friend. El pretends to shake him by the claw.
“What’s his name?”
“Um…”
“The great storyteller hasn’t given this poor guy a name?” El strokes the horned head of the crouching gargoyle. “Monster, I dub thee Stanley. May you always watch over my Frecks and keep him safe.”
“Stanley?” I laugh.
El shrugs. “Dude looks like a Stanley.”
We put down our provisions and, while I unroll a two-man sleeping bag, El takes out his Moodles and Doodles and starts sketching Stanley.
“Gargoyles are supposed to ward off evil,” I say. “A bit like your tattoos.”
He looks at me over his drawing. “So we’re doubly safe.”
He’s right. That’s exactly how I feel. After all the fear and heartache of Christmas, I feel safe again. At least, I think I do.
When he’s done sketching, I snuggle myself into the sleeping bag and call him over. He snakes his way inside and we lie facing each other, breathing slowly.
“Thank you for showing me this,” El murmurs. “I get why you love it. The stories and the history.”
“It reminds me of how small I am,” I say. “You know, in the grand scheme of things. That whatever I think and feel right now doesn’t matter. Not really. Because we’re all just history in the end.”
He doesn’t say anything for a while, then hugs me to him. “That sounded profound, Frecks. And it’s also the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard you say. Youmatter.” We part, and for that split second the secret thing that’s haunted him this past week returns. “You matter so much to me. Don’t you understand that at all?”
I stare at the image of Ollie filming you and Raj. Mike’s sent it to my phone, and even as I trespass into my old school, I can’t stop looking at it. How does this sly, sneaking Ollie fit with the kid who leaped to my defence at Gemma’s party? Honestly, I don’t have any theories. After last night at the club I’m tired and jittery, and the note I found on the fridge when I got home a few minutes after one this afternoon hasn’t helped.
The house was empty when I crept in through the side door. As it’s a Thursday, I was fairly confident Dad would be at work and that Chris would have hauled his lazy arse out of bed to take Mum to Zumba (he has to justify his existence in these ways from time to time). Although Mike’s bacon sarnie had helped with my hangover, I was still aching for a shower and a couple of hours’ rest. Of course, when I first saw the image of Ollie, all I wanted to do was head straight over to his house – but one look at Mike told me that was a no go. In the beams of light among the gravestones he looked almost spectral. Anyway, Mike had a better plan…
Back to the note: I was grabbing a carton of milk when it caught my eye.
I tore down the note and crumpled it in my pocket.We can’t continue living like this.Were they planning to throw me out? I supposed from their point of view, they’d feel justified, what with all my hostility and sullen silences. Well, if that was their plan, maybe it was just what I needed. I was too cowardly to leave home myself – being chucked out might be the best thing that could happen.
