I smile. I turn away and walk to join my friends.
4
SINCLAIR
Monday’s going crap and I’ve still got a headache. On top of which I was stupid enough to promise Dad I’d do a shift in the bakery tonight. Normally I help him at the weekends, but because someone’s sick, Mum’s given me permission to be out after wing time so I can have everything ready for tomorrow. Dad gets to the bakery at half past two in the morning so that he can open at six, which means we’re rarely working at the same time. When I was a kid, he’d sometimes take me along if I couldn’t sleep. It always felt like an adventure being in the bakery so early in the morning, even though it’s only a few doors down from our house in the south of Ebrington. These days, to my shame, I spend more time in the shop than I do in my parents’ house. That doesn’t mean I’m unhappy there, but my life is focused on Dunbridge Academy where I see Mum every day at least. I sometimes go home for the weekends, especially if Tori and the others are away.
When I get to the bakery after dinner, the only person there is Margaret, one of the shop assistants. She’s emptied the shelves and is cleaning everything down, so soon after that, I’m alone with myself and my thoughts.
I haven’t had a chance to speak to Tori. We were in English and French together, and it’s not like we aren’t talking to eachother. That’s pretty hard to manage at boarding school given that you’re together at every mealtime and see each other constantly. But when the others are around, it’s shockingly easy to just chat about trivial stuff rather than Saturday night. It can wait till tomorrow. Or the day after. Or never. I probably didn’t say anything too dumb. And if I did, Tori’s sure to have forgotten it by now. Yeah, that’ll be better. Don’t want to create any unnecessary drama.
I drag a twenty-kilo flour sack from the storeroom and start mixing the dough for bread rolls. Sometimes I help in the shop in the afternoons, but I prefer it here at night when there’s nobody around and the hours just merge into one another as I knead the dough and sweep the floors. I don’t need this job, but I love it. And I think my parents are in favour of it too, Dad because the bakery means everything to him, and Mum because it keeps me in touch with honest work. She’d never say so directly, but she stresses often enough that there’s more to life than exam results and university applications. I can’t really imagine staying here for ever and taking over the shop one day, but I like working with my hands. As often happens, I find myself in an almost meditative state. It’s quiet, just me and my thoughts as I weigh out ingredients and knead the dough for tomorrow morning. I don’t know how long I’ve been here when I hear a sound.
I pause. What was that? Am I hearing things, given how little I’ve slept recently? But then I hear the knock again. It’s Tori’s knock. Four times in a row, and kind of firm.
My stomach leaps as I step through into the shop and see her through the glass door. She’s wearing her Dunbridge hoodie under a long coat and her arms are crossed over her chest. Her cheeks are flushed with cold and she’s stunning.
‘Hey.’ She steps into the bakery without a second’s hesitation, as soon as I open the door. For a moment, it’s just like oldtimes. Tori creeping out after wing time so that we can be here together. Shut in the shop together for half the night. We used to do this all the time.
‘Hey.’ I turn around.
Tori peels off her coat and hangs it up behind the counter. ‘I thought maybe you could use a hand,’ she says.
‘Not really,’ I say, because I’m an eejit. I can’t help noticing Tori’s confusion.
‘Should I . . .?’ She gestures towards the door.
C’mon, pull yourself together!‘No.’ I clear my throat. ‘You’re welcome to stay.’
Since when have things been so weird between us? That was a rhetorical question, obviously. I know since when.
Since Tori’s been dating Valentine Ward, since she kissed him at the New Year Ball and I got so hammered that my memory skips after that point. Just like my heart when Tori’s arm brushes mine as she squeezes past me. I could recognize her just by her touch, just by her smell. Peach, she always smells of peach. And I don’t mean the artificial scent of perfumed soap. It’s different with Tori. Better. Everything’s different and better with her. I pray that that fucker Valentine Ward told her so before he crushed his mouth onto hers. I’m obviously incapable of doing so in his place.
‘What shall we listen to?’ asks Tori, sitting on one of the work surfaces. I’m opening my mouth to point out the flour, but Tori doesn’t seem to care if her leggings get dusty. She pulls out her phone. ‘True crime, or an audiobook?’
Neither, if I’m honest. I want to hear her voice as she tells me stuff from her life that I don’t know about any more. Because we’re not talking for some reason.
‘Just music?’ I suggest, even though I know what that means. HerHot Guy Shitplaylist, a.k.a. eleven hours and forty-six minutes of One Direction and the boys’ solo albums. It beginswith ‘Kiss You’ and I’ve never been in such agreement with the singer. As is generally the case, I don’t even know who’s singing just now, but I think it’s Zayn. Or Harry. Tori always looks a bit happier when it’s him.
This evening, it doesn’t seem to be working, though. The music blurs into the background as I turn my attention to the dough. I can feel Tori’s eyes on my back. Then I hear her voice.
‘How’s the head?’
I pause. ‘Still thumping.’
‘No surprise there, then.’ She sounds pretty pissed off. I start to feel guilty. I know Tori doesn’t drink. For perfectly understandable reasons. What was I thinking?
‘No, I . . . I’m sorry, I think I was pretty drunk.’
Tori nods vigorously. ‘Yeah, pretty drunk.’ I wish she’d tell me the truth. But she hasn’t been doing that for a long time now.
‘Did I whitey on you?’ I ask.
‘Not quite.’
Well, at least that’s something.
Knead and roll. It’s a huge ball of dough and my arms are burning slightly with the effort, but I don’t stop.
