How I wish I’d told Miles what I really thought about Dion. About how much I liked him. About how he was the one I was really into that year, not him and his pathetic after-training snogging sessions. But I was too scared.
I’m not scared now.
“I know this doesn’t count for anything, but I’m sorry I said that,” I say. We’re both sitting on the sofa in our underwear and the slight chill in the air is making our nipples hard and patches of goosebumps corrugate our skin. But neither of us move to find more clothes, even me with mybag completely on display. We need to have this conversation. “I’m really sorry. I don’t remember it and I honestly can’t imagine thinking such things but I believe you. It’s just, my memories of that night are very different. Where exactly were we when you heard me say it? And when?”
“You were outside, at the end of the ball, waiting for Miles’ mum or dad to pick him up. He was really drunk and had vomited everywhere on the ground.”
Vomit. Yes, I remember that part.
“And where were you?”
“I was standing behind both of you, just outside the gymnasium doors. You couldn’t see me. And that’s when I heard what I heard.”
I try to recall more of that night. It feels like I’m jumping and straining to catch helium balloons that are flying out of reach.
“I don’t remember that but I remember seeing you earlier. When you waited for me outside the disabled toilet.”
A flash of recognition alters Dion’s face. “Oh yeah, I remember that too. You had a bad stomach.” His eyes dip to my bag. “Was that when your Crohn’s problems started.”
“Yes. Kinda. In truth, I’d had problems for almost a year before. I just kept putting off going to a doctor. But I did after that night. In France. Mum took me to her old family doctor and they actually sent me to hospital for tests and investigations.”
“And you got your diagnosis?”
“Yes, eventually. I’ve always wanted to thank you for that.”
“Me? Why me?”
“Because you were the one who prompted me to get it looked at. You were the first person whodiscovered my secret and you made me realise how stupid I’d been ignoring it.”
A half-smile quirks Dion’s lips and I want to know what is prompting it but it disappears just as quickly as it comes.
“So if you thought that about me, why did you then…say not very nice shit about me?”
“I don’t know,” I say. “It doesn’t make any sense because I really liked you back then. I was sad that night that I didn’t get to say a proper goodbye to you. But I had to look after Miles and then I went back to look for you but you’d already gone. That’s right. Your friend, Raquelle, told me you’d already left.”
“Raquelle?” Dion looks surprised. “You spoke to Raquelle?”
Warmth floods my cheeks and the tips of my ears. “Yeah, I actually gave her a message for you.”
“A message? What message?”
“That…” Embarrassment floods me. And Dion’s stern frown scares me a bit too much. He really doesn’t know. Raquelle didn’t tell him that I liked him back then. “Just to say goodbye.”
His eyebrow arches but he doesn’t say anything. “We had a fight that night. She was drunk. I was in a shitty mood. We never really made up properly. And then I transitioned and our friendship was never really the same.”
“I’m sorry to hear that.”
He shrugs. “Shit happens.”
“What did you fight about? That night?”
“I don’t know. Probably something to do with that twat Miles. She was obsessed with him that year.”
My whole brain lights up with a new, brilliant memory. “That’s who I was talking about!” I point at Dion. “It wasn’t you. It was her. Raquelle.”
“What do you mean?”
“I was telling Miles to leave her alone. Thatshewas vulnerable or just, you know, not to be messed with. Not that you should mess with anyone but she always seemed so…fragile. He was such a dick to lead her on.”
