“Can I come in?” I ask, and Grace wakes up from her trance.
“Yes, sure.” She steps aside. No hello kiss. “Is everything OK?”
I nod, even though nothing’s OK. Absolutely nothing, and it’s all my own fault.
I step through the doorway into this house, which has felt for ages like my second home. But it isn’t anymore. It’s Grace’s home, and I was merely allowed to be a guest here for a while.
“Aren’t your parents here?” I ask, when I notice how quiet it is.
“No. It’s just me.”
“Oh, right.” That’s probably a good thing. We can talk in peace, which means I’m really going to have to do this. No more excuses or apologies. Just the truth. Painful, unpleasant truth.
I raise my head as Grace shuts the door, and I shove my hands into my trouser pockets. Should I ask her if we can go to her room? Or sit on the sofa? Where’s the best place for this kind of conversation? I didn’t think this through at all.
And then I just start babbling. “I was in Glasgow with Emma yesterday,” I say, even before Grace has turned to face me. There’s confusion in her face. “She met her dad there. It didn’t go very well. I think he’s a bit of an arsehole and—”
“Henry,” she interrupts, “why are you telling me this?”
“Because then I almost kissed her.”
It’s a bomb in word form, and it goes off silently between us. Grace looks stunned, but she gets herself back under control amazingly quickly. At that moment, I see she knew everything. She just never said. Not once. She was nice to Emma, didn’t utter a bad word about her or doubt me. But she saw everything, of course she did, and I’m the shittiest human being in the entireworld. I want to say something, but I can’t. Not until she’s said something.
Grace nods slowly. “OK?” It sounds more like a question.
“Grace, I’m sorry, I—I didn’t mean to...”
“Stop it.” Her voice is quiet but clear. “Stop saying things you don’t mean.”
I open my mouth but she doesn’t let me speak.
“You’re not sorry. You wanted to kiss her. I’ve seen the way you look at her, Henry.”
I say nothing, and it’s cowardly. I know that. It’s my bloody job to have this conversation, and I can’t do it.
“This is the end, isn’t it?” Grace asks, and when she smiles uncertainly and looks at me with glittering eyes, the tears start to sting mine too.
“I think so.” My voice sounds croaky.
Grace shuts her eyes briefly. A tear runs down her cheek. She takes a deep breath, then looks at me again.
“It’s not true that I don’t mean what I just said,” I say. “I am sorry, Grace. I’m so sorry for hurting you. I didn’t want to. And you don’t deserve it. You deserve someone who’ll go to Oxford with you and want the same things you want. And that—that’s not me.”
It’s crazy how quiet we’re being. How silently Grace cries and how hollow my head feels. It’s like a crash in slow motion, one we’d seen coming. For weeks. We’ve been mentally preparing ourselves for this, but that doesn’t make it hurt any less.
“We’re not Henry and Grace from the first form anymore, and that’s OK,” says Grace. I hear the tremor in her voice and hear hertrying to suppress it. “We’re older, we’ve both grown up.” She pauses. “But sadly, we’ve grown in different directions.”
I nod against my will. I see Grace with the plaits she had in the first form and remember how she used to cheer me up when Mum and Dad had to go back to the airport. I see her beaming with joy at good exam results and the two of us during never-ending summer nights, but now itiscoming to an end.
“It feels like I cheated on you.” The tears choke off my voice, but I can’t stop them. Because itreallyfeels like that. Because Grace was loyal, always, and I wasn’t. I’m leaving her. I’m splitting up with her. For a girl I’ve known just a few weeks. Which is nothing compared to the time I’ve spent with Grace. But it was enough to show me how much more could be possible. That time with Grace is nice and time with Emma is indescribable.
Grace stands facing me in silence as I cry and doesn’t look at me. “Didyou cheat on me?” she asks, and there’s no hint of accusation in her voice. I know that if I had, I’d admit it now. Because Grace deserves the truth. No matter how much it hurts.
“No,” I say.
“All right.” She nods without a second’s hesitation, because she trusts me.
“But I slept at hers,” I blurt out. “A while ago, she was upset, I just went round to hers to talk and then... I slept there. In her bed. We were both dressed, and nothing—”
