Page 2 of Yearning Difficulties

Dave frowned as Priya gestured to the two of us, the ancient studio landline pressed to her neck.

‘Do we have a caller already, Priya?’ I asked.

‘Better be someone interesting,’ Dave griped. ‘Unlikely when half the people at this school were raised in barns.’

Even though the whole point of the radio show was for fellow students to call in and discuss hot topics, Dave seemed put out at the prospect of having to hear someone else speak.

‘Caller?’ I said, smiling at Priya. ‘You’re live on Radio Panache!’

‘Thank you,’ said a deep, disembodied voice. ‘As much as I would rather talk to you, I have some words for the jabbering parrot I presume is sitting next to you.’

I gasped down a laugh and Dave made a strange choking sound.

‘Who is this?’ he demanded. ‘And wh—’

‘No, no, friend,’ said the male voice on the other end of the phone. ‘You’ve said more than enough for today. I may be the only listener you haven’t lulled into a stupor. Okay, you went to France and skied down a mountain. That’s not a substitute for a personality, my guy – malheureusement. The English royal family go skiing. It’s frighteningly unchic. You’re asking us to listen to your diatribe about how uncool Lake Pristine is, as you wax lyrical about the ski slopes, but all we’re really doing is picturing you in neon salopettes. And dude, no one in winterwear can ever hold court when it comes to being cool. So sorry, Chalet Boy.’

I threw my head back and laughed, making sure to stay unmuted. Dave made a snarling sound but the disembodied voice continued.

‘And can I just say, on behalf of the entire student body of Lake Pristine, we are so glad that the beautiful Miss Zella Blass is finally free of you.’

The use of the word ‘beautiful’ gave me pause. But there was no time to question its sincerity as his speech scorched through the airwaves.

‘Seeing her escape your clutches was like one of those nature documentaries. You know, when the zebra gets dragged into the river by the crocodile and you just think, Oh, God, I hope that poor thing can break free – it’s got her in its ugly teeth. And she did! So, happy days for anyone with a conscience. We don’t have to watch you drone on and on at her in the canteen any more. She can finally eat in peace without the weird trust-fund kid chipping away at her will to live.’

This was the last indignity Dave could suffer. He threw me a look of betrayal and stormed away from the studio desk.

‘Uh oh,’ said the voice. ‘Judging by the sound of all that calamity, Chalet Boy’s minced off?’

I forced myself to dig deep and find my professionalism. ‘Whoever you are, that wasn’t very nice.’

There was a beat of silence and then, ‘You’re fibbing, Red. I can hear the laugh in your voice.’

‘Okay, yeah’—I smiled as I spoke—‘maybe I appreciate you intervening today. But I can handle my co-host, never fear.’

‘Yes, of course you can. But that doesn’t mean you should have to. The guy has the charisma of a broken printer!’

I exhaled. ‘Killian? It’s Killian, isn’t it?’

Killian Bergery. One half of a set of twins who’d arrived in Lake Pristine just over a year ago. Killian and Christian weren’t identical twins, but that was most obvious when it came to their characters. They were slightly alike without, and utterly unlike within.

It might have seemed to some like Killian’s sudden defence of me was an act of kindness. I knew better. He was a perfect troll. He lived for derision and scorn. Any compliments, any use of the word ‘beautiful’, should be filed away under facetious sarcasm.

‘Killian,’ I repeated, my voice a little sharper. ‘I know it’s you.’

There was a beat of silence, and then, ‘How’d you know it wasn’t Christian?’

True, their voices were indistinguishable. ‘Because Chris is the sweet one and you’re the one with the nuclear reactor in your vocab.’

Both twins were in the senior class with me and Dave, but Killian had spent most of last year heckling me in the corridors and throwing things at the back of my head in English. The Bergery twins were Dr Bergery’s sons.

Dr Bergery – host of the writing seminar that would guarantee me the university scholarship I wanted. My father worked for the council and my mother was a hairdresser. Their finances were good but not pay-for-three-whole-years-of-university good – and I didn’t want to end up in crippling debt either. I had my whole academic year mapped out, with meticulous little highlighted passages in my planner. I would host the show on Radio Panache, pass my advanced classes with flying colours, volunteer for my dad at the Lake Pristine Town Hall (including helping out with the Autumn Festival and Halloween celebrations) and find a way to get into that writing seminar.

Dr Bergery only allowed a select number of pupils to join. Some said the lucky five had already been chosen. Others said it had been written in stone since last year’s examinations.

But I wasn’t giving up. I wanted to be one of the five. I had to be.

Killian’s voice drew me back to the studio.