Henry
I had to stay in the sick bay until after the weekend. Not because of my shoulder, which the painkillers were helping me deal with to some extent, but because of the concussion—Dr.Henderson said that meant I had to stay put, however daft I thought it.
Mrs.Sinclair informed my parents, and I spoke to them from the hospital while I was waiting for my X-ray and convinced them there was no need for them to get on the next plane. Mum suggested sending Theo over, but I turned that down too. There was no need, and if I’m honest, I’m scared of meeting him. He’d find the fact that I finished my first rugby match in the Accident and Emergency hilarious.
In the end, Mum did believe me that everything was fine. I reckon Sinclair’s been sending her regular updates on my state, because even after I slept for fourteen hours straight on my first night in the sick bay, I didn’t wake up to any anxious messages on my phone.
Yeah, so that match was undeniably suboptimal for me, but I know I was lucky. In the time I’ve been at Dunbridge, more thanone ambulance has been called for rugby injuries. There’s been everything from broken ribs and collarbones to torn cruciate ligaments and fractured ankles. My dislocated shoulder wasn’t exactly a first for the team either.
But I can forget being able to play for weeks, and I’m not even allowed to run with Emma or train with the team. I suppose I needn’t mind too much about the latter—after all, I’ve played for the school now, which I can put on my UCAS form—but I’m surprisingly disappointed. I’d never have expected to enjoy training so much. Icouldthrow in the towel now and quit the team, but the fact is that only a week after my accident, I’m missing it. Somehow, I’ve got used to standing on the pitch three times a week, whatever the weather, rolling in the mud and chasing after the ball. But I won’t be able to get back to it for two months at the earliest, and that’s if I make good progress in my physio. Dr.Henderson is optimistic, seeing that I’m young and my shoulder wasn’t more seriously injured. I see him again at the start of the week, and he tapes my shoulder but is not open to negotiations on the subject of this inconvenient bandage that I have to wear day and night for the time being.
I hadn’t realized how limited you are with only one functional arm. Starting with having a shower and getting dressed. I couldn’t get into my school uniform without Sinclair’s help, which was pretty humiliating. I’m lucky that I landed on my left shoulder and therefore have my right hand to write with. But in the dining hall, I always have to ask someone if I can add my stuff to their tray.
I don’t want to complain, though—things really could havebeen much worse. At least they didn’t have to operate, which would have meant no rugby for the next six months.
I don’t know if it was down to the concussion or the anesthetic from when they reset my shoulder, but for the first few days after the accident, I felt like I’d been run over by a truck. I had to nap after lessons because everything was such hard work, and I would wake up sometime before dinner when my shoulder was starting to throb from my having lain in the same position for too long.
Things only start to improve a little over the course of the week. Emma doesn’t want to run on her own, so we go for long walks across the whole school grounds, right up to the edge of the woods. The trees are bare, Maeve has been dead for more than two months, and even now, in early December, I can’t think about her without wanting to cry. Those times when I hear some exciting piece of news and my first thought is that I have to tell her about it. Those times when I look at Emma and remember that Maeve never got to meet her.
Nothing is getting any easier, but it seems like I’ve got used to the fact that it hurts. I don’t fight it anymore; I try to feel it, even when it’s hard.
After biology, I pick up my phone from the pigeonhole, and as I step outside, I see the message from Sinclair. He’s got an unexpected free period and what time do I want to eat? What he actually means is, Should he wait for me so that I’ve got someone to carry my tray? I can’t manage to answer him because I can feel my bag slowly slipping off my shoulder. I hate it. Before I can perform some awkward maneuver to stop it falling, someone comes alongside me and catches it.
“Hey.” Grace shoves the strap back up over my shoulder. “That looks tricky with one hand.”
“Oh, thanks.” I clear my throat. “Yeah, it is.”
“Thought as much.” She takes a step back. I can’t help noticing the way she’s looking at me. “How are you?” I hear a hint of concern in her voice. Evidently she doesn’t hate me: She still cares in some way like I care for her.
“Fine, could have been worse,” I say. I can count on the fingers of one hand the number of times Grace and I have spoken since we broke up. We see each other in the corridors, in class, at lunch, but mostly only with the others around too. I’ve refrained from speaking to her, because I can imagine that things are hard enough for her as it is, always seeing me with Emma.
Now she’s smiling, but she doesn’t look happy. Her smile looks forced, and her eyes are dull. I don’t like that.
“Good, that’s good,” Grace says. “I’m glad nothing worse happened.”
I wonder if things will ever stop being so weirdly tense between us. We don’t hate each other, we don’t bad-mouth each other, but I think Grace is at least as scared of doing something wrong as I am. I’ve really been wondering how people manage to stay friends after a breakup.
“So how are you?” I ask.
Grace hesitates. “Fine. I... Yeah, everything’s fine. I didn’t mean to hold you up.”
“You’re not,” I say. “Seriously, Grace. Thanks for asking. I’m proud of us. I was scared that we’d ignore each other and... you know. I’m glad it’s not like that.”
Her smile is a bit like the old days. It makes me happy, but not in the way that Emma’s smile makes me happy. And that’s OK.
“I’m glad too,” she says.
Emma
Henry said he loves me, and I said I love him too. That evening, in the sick bay, and even if that wasn’t the place I’d have picked for it, it just felt right. It’s the first time I’ve said those words. I never told Noah that. But with Henry, it was so easy. It was the truth.
On the Monday after his accident, he was back in lessons. Another week’s passed since then, and I’m glad he’s getting better. He still has to take painkillers because of his shoulder, but that bandage pinning his arm at the correct angle to his body is the only reminder of his fall.
There’s no EPQ today, which gives us both a free period. I go back with Henry to his room. In theory, to read ahead in our set text for English. We don’t even unpack our books, just start kissing the moment the door shuts behind us. Only kissing, nothing more is going to happen—after all, he has to take care of his shoulder—but that’s dangerously easy to forget when Henry slips his right hand under my blouse.
He hasn’t done that for a long time. But then, we haven’t kissed like this for a long time either. The last time we slept together, his sister was still alive. I’m sure that Henry is just as aware of that as I am. And I don’t want to force anything. I pullback slightly as I feel the throbbing between my legs growing increasingly urgent.
But Henry puts his hand on my back and holds me to him. His pupils are wider than normal, a sure sign that the things we’re doing right now excite him at least as much as they do me. He licks his lips, and I want to feel his tongue in my mouth again. Or somewhere else. I can’t think about that—he might not be up to it yet, which would be more than OK by me. After all, I’m a considerate girlfriend.
