“OK. Well, we’ll see.” He’s trying to sound lighthearted, and it’s tugging at my heart a bit.
“Just decide on the day, if you like.”
“Thanks, Em,” he says sometime later.
“Stop that,” I reply at once.
“No, really. Thank you. For being so understanding, even when I was being a jerk. It—it’s just all so bloody hard.”
“It won’t be the same forever,” I say. “Someday, it’ll be better. A tiny bit. And then another tiny bit.”
Henry doesn’t say anything, but at least he doesn’t contradict me.
“I’m scared I’ll screw up in maths too,” he says eventually. “In English that was... I just couldn’t think straight. I couldn’t do it.”
My stomach clenches, but I try not to let it show. “Maths will be different. I’m sure of it. We can study together if you like.”
Henry nods vaguely, and I know that right now revising for some mock exam is the last thing he ought to be doing. But he still has to pass his A levels and get into uni.
Henry needs good predicted grades. Even if he doesn’t want to study at St. Andrews, given what’s happened. Not many good universities are going to have lower entry requirements. But it definitely isn’t the time to talk about that to Henry. All that matters now is for him to find himself again.
Henry
They said I didn’t have to come to the St. Andrews open day. I’m already regretting having turned down the offer to stay at school when we step off the bus after a ninety-minute drive. My stomach knots. Maybe I’ll throw up on the university’s perfectly manicured lawn, or maybe I just won’t allow any emotions to stir. It’s bad enough feeling Emma, Sinclair, and Tori looking anxiously at me as Mr.Ringling, who’s in charge today, introduces us to the students who will show us around. There are three girls and three boys, and I can hardly look them in the face. When they introduce themselves, I don’t recognize their names, so it’s unlikely they were friends of Maeve’s. This isn’t Dunbridge Academy; it’s bigger, more impersonal. They might have heard that a fellow student had died, they might have felt sad, but they’d have been too busy to dwell on it, with the new semester and catching up with their friends.
I hate how bitter I am. And I hate that my throat’s tight and my mouth’s dry as we’re divided into three groups, each of which is allocated two student guides. Mr.Ringling likes me and feels sorry for me, so I’m sure it’s no coincidence that I’m in a group with Emma, Tori, and Sinclair. Liam and Felicity are second-year undergraduates, studying psychology and economics. They’re nice, making jokes and answering questions as they show us a lecture theater followed by the halls of residence. The building we’re walking into isn’t the one where Maeve lived, but being close to it is enough to stop me from feeling anything. I’m simply numb. My head is dizzy, my fingers are cold. I jumpwhen I feel Emma’s hand on my arm. She looks at me, and an almost uncontrollable urge to shake off her hand rises inside me. Because I’m afraid of what would happen if I told her how I’m really feeling.
The others follow Felicity into the flat she shares with two other students. I stay in the hallway because I know what these rooms look like. “Don’t you want to...” I begin as Emma waits beside me.
“Did she live here too?” she asks instead of answering. There’s no sympathy in her voice, just empathy. Until recently, I hadn’t really known the difference.
“No. She was in the next building.” I have to clear my throat because my voice suddenly sounds husky.
“Have you been back since?”
I don’t want to think about it. I almost stayed in Cheshire because I was too scared to clear out her flat with Theo, Mum, and Dad. It took us a whole day, and I cried the whole time. But I suppose it was important. A way of at least starting to get to grips, to grasp what’s happened. Becausegraspandgriphave to do with touching things. Holding things with your own hands, handling them. Maeve’s clothes, her uni hoodie, which I wore in Cheshire until it stopped smelling of her. Her books, her pens. Her cold hand, before the coffin was shut.
“Henry?”
I jump. Emma’s gazing at me. “Hm?”
“Want to go somewhere else?”
I nod.
“OK.” Emma walks over to Liam, who’s in the middle ofchatting to Omar and Inés about his first semester here. “Excuse me, is there a toilet here somewhere?”
“Yeah, sure,” he says at once, pointing. “At the end of the hall, on the right.”
“Super, thanks.” Emma smiles and glances at me.
Liam doesn’t notice that we move away from the group. Emma waits until we’re out of sight, then takes my hand. It’s only a small gesture, but it says it all.I’m here, you don’t have to do this alone.
We don’t speak as we leave the building. The air is cool—there’s no denying that winter’s on its way. We follow a group of students down the cobbled path. Their voices mingle with the squawking of the gulls as they sail over our heads.
“Did you often visit her here?” Emma asks as we walk side by side.
“Only a couple of times. She came to see me at school more often.”
