Page 80 of Yearning Difficulties

‘I know. And it was okay over the summer. I could find lots of things to do. Now I miss you. But the thing is, you were never really there.’

I glanced at him. ‘What?’

‘I realize now I never really had you. You were always holding something back from me.’

He wasn’t wrong. I hadn’t meant to do it but that didn’t negate the fact that I did. ‘You’re right. I’m sorry, too, Dave.’

‘Then you started dating the freak.’

‘Please don’t call him that.’

‘But he is, Zella. He’s weird. Look at how he was in English.’

I didn’t want to. ‘Stop.’

My voice was quiet. But firm.

‘I never knew you liked him,’ Dave went on. ‘He always irritated you before.’

‘Yeah, back when he threw things at the back of my head.’

‘So then—’

‘It wasn’t real, Dave. He was pretending to date me for a favour. So his mother would actually know I exist.’

I knew it was unwise to tell Dave, but none of it mattered any more. His mouth dropped open and he looked so comical I almost laughed.

‘You what?’

‘We were never really together. He did it as a favour. I practically forced him.’

Dave took a few moments to process my words. ‘I don’t understand.’

‘Me neither. I must have been – I don’t even know. Anyway. Doesn’t matter. It’s done.’

We sat in almost companionable silence for a few minutes, watching Lake Pristine exist in the autumn cold. People buying costumes from the large display at the market. Children excitedly telling their grandparents about what they were planning for Halloween. Younger teens smuggling toilet paper into their schoolbags, clearly planning to attack some poor unsuspecting house.

‘Halloween on Friday,’ I said needlessly.

‘I have a final interview at Mapesbury during the day,’ Dave said. ‘Then it’s the big dance in the evening.’

‘Yeah. Costumes mandatory.’

‘Will you go with me?’

I felt the instant instinctual urge to say no, but the person I wanted would not ask me. ‘I don’t think so. Ask me on Friday.’

Twenty-Eight

Someone Like Me

Today’s Track: ‘Forget About It’ by Alison Krauss

I was doing coursework in the library when I felt him sit down across from me. I didn’t need to glance up to know it was him. I could smell cedar and soap, like the night he’d thrown his body over mine.

‘I’ve got to finish this,’ I said without looking up. ‘Not really in the mood to debate fictional French men and their issues.’

‘Zella.’