“You’re not as close to him as to her,” says Emma, but it sounds more like a question.
“Maybe it’s the age difference,” I say, although I know that’s not the reason. Theo’s only a year older than Maeve. It’s not the age difference; it’s the character difference. I’m not like Theo, and I’ve never tried to be. As the third child, it’s hard to establish an identity of your own that’s not based on copying the others. Theo and I have nothing to say to each other. And that used to be OK, because there was always Maeve to act as a go-between when I had the impression, yet again, that we were speaking different languages.
“I’m sometimes scared that I haven’t just lost Maeve,” I say, “but Theo too. We were never that close, but now... I always thought something like this would bring you closer together, but apparently, the opposite is possible too.”
“Maybe you need more time just the two of you, so you can get close again.”
More time, just the two of us. It’s a shame we don’t have any. Because we’re always busy—Theo’s learning to be a doctor, and I’m working on not going out of my mind.
“Sometimes I think he’s not half as bothered as me that she’s gone.”
They’re words I never wanted to say out loud. Because they’re so awful, I’m immediately ashamed of even having thought them. I can’t tell if things are less bad for Theo. And even if they are, who am I to judge whether the way he’s grieving for Maeve is right or wrong?
“Maybe he just has a different way of dealing with it,” says Emma. I don’t answer as we walk on. “Maybe you have very similar emotions, but they show up differently. You could find out if you talked to each other.”
Maybe Emma’s right. I should try, at least. Even if that isn’t the case, and it turns out that Theo and I are just too different, at least I’d have tried. And that probably couldn’t feel any worse than the fear that I’ve lost both my siblings.
30
Emma
The next morning, Henry comes down to breakfast for the first time in ages, and eats. I don’t know if seeing that as a good sign is me being naive, but it makes me happy. Even though it reminds me that even in biology, he only got a C, and it’s his best subject. It’s making my stomach ache because I’m sure it means he needs to do well in our maths exam to keep his grades on track for uni. I decide to ask him later if he’d like to go through some past papers together in the next few days.
He’s got rugby training as I head to my appointment with Mr.Ward in the afternoon. It would be the understatement of the century to say I’m not looking forward to it. I did surprisingly well on the English test, but Mr.Ward still doesn’t miss any opportunity to put me down. At least the last few weeks haven’t given me much time to wonder what might have happened between him and my dad. There were more important things to worry about.
I tuck an unruly strand of hair behind my ear and knock on the dark wood of Mr.Ward’s office door. Nobody answers and Istrain to hear any sound behind it. Maybe the door is too thick for me to be able to hear him in there. All the same, I knock again, then press down on the handle.
It’s a small room with a north-facing window. Filing cabinets, and a desk in the center. No sign of Mr.Ward.
“Hello?” I take a step into the office and look again. Did I get the wrong room? Room 2350: That’s what Mr.Ward said. I walk out into the corridor to check the little plaque next to the door. No, I’m in the right place. Maybe he’ll be here in a minute. I turn and glance inside again. When I catch sight of the pile of papers on the desk, neatly stacked beside books, exercise books, and a water bottle, I freeze. Then I step closer.
Lower 6th mathematics: Mock A-level examination
Hold on...
This is our exam. The paper we’re going to sit on Friday.
I immediately retreat to the doorway. Why has Mr.Ward left them just lying around like that? I glance hastily over my shoulder, but the corridor is empty.
Shit... If he sees I was on my own in this room, he’s bound to assume I read the exam papers. I break out in a cold sweat. Could you be chucked out for that? I have to get out of here and shut the door and wait a few meters down the hall as if I’d...
Or I could...
No.
No, no, no. No way. It’s just a single thought but it’s getting louder in my head.C’mon, Emma. Now or never. There’s nobody here. Think of Henry. Think of the way he’s screwed up one exam after another.Think of his future, think ofyourfuture. St. Andrews, the two of you, but only if Henry doesn’t get even further behind.
Look left, look right. Empty hall, three steps into the room. I pull out my phone, photograph the first page, turn over, take the next photo. I’m calm, I’m quick, it just happens. When I’ve almost finished, my elbow nudges the water bottle standing on the desk. It’s made of glass; it tips as if in slow motion. My heart skips a beat as I just manage to grab it before it falls. But in the process, a couple of exercise books slip aside, revealing an open packet of pills. Is Mr.Ward taking painkillers for his leg? Whatever, concentrate, Wiley.
It takes me less than thirty seconds to put everything back the way it was and get back outside. There’s still nobody in sight, and instead, the thoughts crowd in.Are you sure you put everything back the way it was before? Did nobody really see you? Holy shit, now the evidence is right there on your phone.
I’m just about to step back into the room to check that I really didn’t leave a trace when someone comes around the corner.
It’s Mr.Ward. I jump so violently that he’s bound to have seen it.
“Here you are.” His eyes go from me to the door and back again.Don’t attract suspicion. Breathe normally.“I’ve been waiting for you.”
“What? I thought you said room 2350...”
