(no subject)

[libelle_c]

Chapter Thirteen

The hotel that Quen and Abigail eventually decided on was especially nice, and Abigail was looking forward to staying in it. Part of her felt extremely awkward about accepting Quen’s kindness like this, but she was trying to be as gracious as she could. Still arm in arm, the two teenagers walked up the fair stone steps and in through the double doors, admitting them to a large, red lobby with gold decorations. They were evidently in the process of taking all the Christmas decorations down, for although the room was devoid of Christmas cards or ornaments, there was still a large white Christmas tree in the corner, looking very bland without its decorations.

“Wait here,” said Quen as they reached a selection of chairs to the left of the doors. “I’ll sort everything out.” He walked over to the desk that was to the right. He didn’t answer what Abigail’s most burning question was, but in a way she didn’t want to know the answer in case she was disappointed. The thing was, Quen had only said that he would sort “everything” out, not “the rooms” or “a room for us.” She felt horribly curious as to what the room arrangements were going to be.

Something about Quen encouraged her to be uncharacteristically impulsive. Never in her wildest dreams would she have otherwise run from her house on Boxing Day to roughly track someone down who she wasn’t sure even wanted her there in the first place. With Quen, she took those chances without even thinking about it. She didn’t know what she wanted to happen with the rooming arrangements - wait, that was a lie. She knew exactly what she wanted, but a part of her felt somewhat ashamed of this want. She loved Quen and he was her best friend, but would she regret such flippant behaviour later? Something about him made her lose her head and do things that weren’t normal for her, and while part of her loved this exciting streak, another part had to question whether it was entirely healthy.

“Ready?” Quen asked her, reappearing in front of where she was sitting. She nodded and stood up, admittedly not reaching the same impressive height that he stood at. “Let’s go, then. We’re on Level Four.” They proceeded to the lift that stood directly opposite the doors that they had first entered from. Abigail pressed the calling button and it lit up in red. A small ‘ding!’ noise coming from somewhere above them announced the lift’s progress in reaching the ground floor, until the silver doors slid open to admit them.

The lift was empty but they got into it with three other people. Everyone was silent as the lift began its ascent. Abigail found herself glancing at her reflection more than was normal for her. She was desperate to find out the room situation, although she didn’t know how either alternative was going to make her feel…

The doors opened on Level Four and she and Quen stepped out with another man, who swiftly walked to the left. Quen glanced at the number of one of the rooms, then looked at the one to the right and said, “It’s this way.” They continued down the narrow hallway, Quen glancing at each door as they went, Abigail chewing on her gums nervously, stopping every time Quen looked down at her to smile.

“Here we are.” Quen took the key he had been grasping in his fist and fitted it into the lock, turning it until the door opened on a very beautiful room. Like the lobby downstairs, the furniture, such as the sofa and long soft-looking curtains were a deep red. The carpet was cream coloured, as were the pillows on the … double bed. Abigail was suddenly unsure of what to do with her hands.

Quen, not noticing anything amiss, laid her suitcase down at the foot of the bed and said, “Could you close the door?” Abigail did so.

“This is such a beautiful room,” she commented. “It wasn’t too much, was it?”

Quen shrugged. “Wasn’t too bad,” he told her nonchalantly. “Anyway, we’ll be here for a couple of days, might as well enjoy it.” Not wanting to stand there gaping like an idiot any longer, she crossed to the windows and looked out at the small village that there was a clear view of. She inhaled deeply, hoping Quen was going to come up behind her and embrace her. He didn’t.

“There’s a bathroom through that door,” he informed her, having just opened it to check. “Sorry about there being no TV, by the way. I didn’t think it was worth the extra price. But there’s supposed to be a radio in the cupboard that we can use if you want.”

“Sure, that’s great,” Abigail told him quickly, turning around to look back at him. “I can set it up if you want.”

“Yeah, fine,” said Quen. “To be honest with you Abigail I’m actually starving right now, I haven’t been eating much at the moment and stuff, but I feel a bit exhausted for going out and looking for somewhere to eat.”

“There’s that supermarket we passed on the way here,” she chipped in quickly. “I could -”

“You can read my mind,” he said with a smile. “That’s what I was thinking too, only I don’t mind going to get some food myself.”

“No, no, I’ll do it, you’ve got this lovely room for us and I really need to do something in return.”

“Honestly, it’s fine, I’ll go and buy us some supplies for tonight and if you’re that bothered we can go again tomorrow, but you don’t need to worry about coming with me, Abigail.” He glanced up at the clock. It was eight p.m. “I’ll be back in about half an hour, forty-five minutes tops,” he told her. “You’ve got the key remember, so don’t fall asleep until I get back, okay?”

“Okay,” she agreed, starting to walk nearer to him. “I’ll set up the radio.”

“You do that,” he replied. She reached him and he stooped to plant a quick kiss on her temple. “Thanks for this,” he said. “I don’t know what I’d do without you. You’re a good friend. I’ll see you later.”

“Bye,” said Abigail as, with a smile, he left the room, leaving her dazed and bewildered.

Well, sex obviously wasn’t on his mind, that was for sure. She felt utterly confused from the day’s events, but none more so than what had just taken place. He had just kissed her, admittedly not that passionately but quite intimately all the same, then referred to her as his “friend.” It was all very perplexing.

Trying to take her mind off things, Abigail squatted down on her haunches and prized open the small cupboard. She retrieved the radio, which, although not exactly modern looked at least to be in order, and set it on top of the cupboard, looking around for an outlet as she did so. Spotting one, she uncoiled the wire from around the radio and plugged it in, flicking the switch as she did so. A loud crackling noise reached her ears and she extended the aerial and began turning one of the knobs to improve the sound quality. Eventually she reached a station playing a song that she vaguely knew: it had a slow beat and lots of symbols with a soft female voice as the singer.

A red blanket the same shade as the curtains and sofa had been left folded at the foot of the bed. Abigail busied herself with unfolding it and laying it out neatly on the bed. Their bed. That she and Quen would be sharing. Unless he was going to be a proper gentleman and sleep on the sofa, but he couldn’t do that…

She shook herself to dispel her thoughts, then walked in to inspect the bathroom. It was immaculate, with a large shower stall and fluffy cream towels laid out. She examined her face carefully in the mirror. Her skin looked fine, but her hair was all over the place. With a sigh, she exited the bathroom to grab her hairbrush from her suitcase. Back in front of the mirror, she brushed out the tangles and looked herself over. Rainwater and general atmosphere had caused her hair to look like a wild animal. She brushed it back carefully, pulling it back into a hair tie. That looked better, but there was still a large tuft at the back that reminded her unfortunately of a squirrel. She tried plaiting it, and to her relief it looked better.

Abigail stared at her reflection, now with her hair pulled off her face. She wasn’t an unattractive girl by any means, but she was not as pretty as Natalie and she was practically a slug in comparison with Gwenn. She wondered what Quen thought of how she looked, and wondered further if he preferred her when she wore makeup, which she only did for special occasions. This was certainly a special situation, even if she wasn’t sure just what to expect once he returned…

She wasn’t sure how it happened, but soon after these thoughts she found herself standing in front of the mirror applying some blusher and mascara. Just a little bit. The result was pleasing, and as she put these items back in her suitcase there was a knock on the door.

“Coming,” she called and moved to open the door.

Quen was standing there laden with two carrier bags. “Food?” he offered her, holding up one of the carrier bags. There was a clinking noise as he stepped inside and Abigail looked at him inquiringly. “Later,” he replied mysteriously, setting the bags down on the top of the cupboard next to the radio, which was now onto the news.

“I got some bread, some crisps and a couple of chocolate bars,” he told her, retrieving them from the carrier bags as he spoke.

“No fruit or veg?” she asked him mock-reproachfully.

“Sorry, miss,” he replied, grinning. “Any preferences?” he asked her with a gesture to the pile of food now congregated on top of the cupboard.

She shrugged. “Some bread would be fine,” she told him. “I don’t know that I can take anything too salty or sweet right now.”

“Okay,” he said, handing her the bag of sliced bread for her to open. Quen glanced at the radio that was still going. “Do you mind if I change this? I don’t like listening to the news much, we used to have to listen to it every day and it sort of gets on my nerves now. I don’t mind it in the papers or on TV, but on radio… sorry, I know that’s pretty bizarre, but -”

“Change it,” Abigail told him hastily. “I’m not listening to it anyway.” Quen turned to start tuning it to something different. Abigail nibbled on her slice of bread, moving to sit on the sofa instead.

*

An hour later, they had both been sitting together on the sofa when Quen abruptly stood up and walked to the cupboard. He reached out and put both hands into one of the white carrier bags, his hands seemingly gripping something quite heavy. He lifted it up at the bag fell away revealing a bottle of red wine.

“Boxing Day celebration,” he explained with a smile. “You don’t know how long I wished for something like this to happen. Well, not something like this, obviously,” he corrected himself hastily, “but I’ve always wanted to see you more by yourself. We haven’t had many chances before, you know. I’m sorry for the way everything went today. I hope the rest of this holiday will be fun.”

“It will be,” Abigail assured him. “The wine was a great idea.”

He relaxed visibly. “There are some glasses in the bathroom apparently,” he said with a slight grimace. “Don’t worry; I’ll make sure I wash them first.” Before she could offer to do this herself, he had set down the wine bottle and crossed to the bathroom. She tucked her feet up so that they were to her side and leaned back, her eyes never leaving the bathroom door that was still ajar.

Without meaning to do it, her feet slid off the sofa and hit the floor as she got an idea. “Quen?” she called experimentally.

He appeared in the doorway, glasses in hands. “Yeah?”

“I’ve got a bit of a headache,” she lied smoothly. “Do you mind if I switch the lights?”

Quen nodded acceptance. “Go ahead.”

Abigail stood up and walked to the cupboard, either side of which there was a small, dim lamp. She then moved to the doorway and turned on a lamp there, too. As she did this Quen came out of the bathroom and crossed to the cupboard where he set down the glasses to pour some wine. The lighting now looked very suggestive indeed but she didn’t expect Quen to object. It was almost romantic, if it wasn’t for the inappropriately loud music coming from the radio.

Quen put the wine bottle back down and without saying a word, flicked the radio off. Abigail was very grateful for this. She walked to the cupboard and Quen handed her a glass. She moved back to sit on the sofa, Quen turning to look at her. He watched her as she settled down and crossed her legs, sipping his wine but not moving to join her. She looked at the floor as she drank some wine, thinking what a bad idea it was to have red wine when there was cream carpet below her. When she looked up again, Quen was leaning against the cupboard, draining his glass.

“Careful,” she said. “Don’t get drunk, New Years isn’t for a couple of days you know. Oh God, New Years!” Her mouth fell open as she realised something.

Quen planted the glass back on top of the cupboard. “What’s up?” he asked.

“Nothing, it’s not important,” she insisted hurriedly.

Quen stared at her. If he had been Freddie he would have raised his eyebrows. “Tell me,” he said simply.

“Just that I was supposed to buy something to wear. But it’s fine, I can sort something -”

“I’ll get you something.”

“No, Quen, you really don’t have to, I’m starting to feel so -” But then she stopped and smiled. “It’s fine. I think I can sort something out.”

He moved nearer to her so that he was standing right in front of her. “Abigail, I’m serious,” he said. “I don’t mind getting you something. In fact, I’d love to. There’s no reason to feel guilty, you know.”

“No, it’s not that,” she smiled. “It’s just that I had forgotten the dress you bought me for my birthday. I can wear that.” She beamed at him.

Quen didn’t look convinced, however. “You’re sure you don’t want something new for the party?” he asked.

She shook her head vigorously. “No, no, I want to wear the green dress. It’s at school hanging up in my wardrobe.”

He nodded. “Okay then. Well, if that’s what you want.”

“I do.”

There was a silence. The tension was killing Abigail. How had it all worked out so easily just two days ago? What did she have to do to make him kiss her? Did he not want to?

“You can sit down if you want,” she said lamely, gesturing next to her.

He nodded indifferently. “Do you want more wine?” he asked, turning his back on her to pour more for himself.

“Sure,” she said, standing up to join him by the cupboard. “You don’t have to pour it for me though,” she added. “You’ve been on your feet all day. Sit down, Quen.” He poured some wine for her despite her instructions, but to her relief did at least go and settle himself on the sofa, on the end where she hadn’t been sitting just before.

“Is there anything you want to talk to me about?” she asked him bluntly.

“Not really,” he said, looking down into his glass. “There’s stuff going on in my mind but… I don’t know, I just feel like forgetting it all at the moment.” He looked up again at her. “Is there anything you want to talk to me about?”

Yes. “No,” she said, hoping he didn’t notice how she took her gaze away from his, albeit briefly. She gazed around the room, and as she did so she noticed it was blurrier than it had been before. “It must be the lack of food we’ve eaten today,” Abigail mumbled with a laugh, “but I can feel the wine going straight to my head.”

“I know,” groaned Quen. “And here was I thinking it was a good idea, and you’re just going to think I was trying to get you drunk!”

“Why would you try to get me drunk?” she questioned him interestedly. He grinned at her, more openly than before.

“No reason.”

“Oh come on,” she giggled, turning and hooking the curve of her left foot under the nook her bent right knee made, the right foot still resting on the floor. She was now facing him full-on. “How am I different drunk to when I’m sober?”

“You kissed me,” he quipped immediately. “On your birthday when we were dancing you kissed me.”

“I’ve kissed you sober too!” she pointed out fairly. “Quite recently, in fact.”

Quen held up his hands in surrender. “I’m not disputing that,” he said. “I’m merely stating the facts.” His gaze lingered on her, his eyes dancing with mischief. He set his wine glass down on the small table behind him. “But then, maybe you’d had some wine Christmas Eve?”

She laughed as she remembered that that was true. “I did, actually! But that has nothing to do with this,” she argued. “I would kiss you stark sober or dreadfully drunk and you know it. I’m at a total surrender to you, Quen Leven.”

She grinned at him to make sure he took her words lightly. They had somehow moved so that they were sitting a lot closer together than before, though Abigail had not noticed either of them moving. She shifted slightly so that both feet were on the floor, her knees pressed together tightly.

Quen placed a hand on her waist lightly and leant into her. “In that case I’d be obliged to take advantage,” he said, and bent his mouth to kiss her. The kiss started off gentle but quickly grew in passion. Abigail put one hand - the other still grasping the wine glass - up to the back of his head. He deepened the kiss accordingly. She sighed inaudibly in pleasure, lightly dragging her fingers through his hair. She had thought the kissing on Christmas had been wonderful, but this was even better. They were warm and comfortable on the cosy sofa, and the wine had stripped them of any inhibitions about what they were saying or doing.

Quen broke the kiss with a light peck on her lips, then another at the corner of her mouth, then another on her jaw. He trailed a few kisses across her jaw line, then to her immense bliss down the curve of her neck until he reached her shoulder, but he didn’t stop there. With his hands quickly undoing the buttons he was swiftly pushing her cardigan away from her shoulder to expose bare, white skin. He followed the route of her camisole strap down the front of her shoulder until he reached her chest and moved along to softly nuzzle at her collarbone. Abigail felt transfixed and could not for the life of her reciprocate. Quen looked up at her questioningly but didn’t say anything.

“Hang on,” she whispered, and twisted slightly so that she could put down the wine glass behind her. She turned back to him and smiled, taking his head again in both her hands to pull him to her. They were soon kissing again, so that Abigail was overwhelmed with feeling. She felt as if a big explosion could take place in front of her and she wouldn’t have opened her eyes to look, she was that engrossed in Quen and what they were doing. However, she didn’t fail to notice one of his hands travelling up her stomach and onto her chest. Fleetingly she questioned herself as to whether this was okay, but a yearning answer told her immediately that it was exactly what she wanted and that she would be a fool to stop him.

Quen’s right hand was spread out on her lower back, and he was pressing her nearer and nearer to him. She let him guide her, not sure what he was getting at until she ended up right in his lap, still kissing him. She found herself, to her own surprise as much as anything, manoeuvring her legs so that they were on either side of his until she was straddling him. Quen kept her there with his hands on the seat of her skirt, his fingers moving very slightly. Gradually one of his hands moved so that it was on the front of her thigh, nudging up her tights and under the hem of her skirt.

She found that she wasn’t afraid of what he was doing. Going completely on nerve and impulse now, she took her hands from the top of his shoulders and gently lifted the hem of his tee shirt, placing her hands on his back and moving them upwards, dragging the shirt up with her until it was laying discarded on the floor and she was touching his bare chest.

Sometime later - neither one could have guessed at the timing even if they had wanted to - Abigail lay on her back on the soft double bed, Quen hovering above her. His hair was hanging off his face as he gazed down at her, his eyes very focused, the effects of the alcohol having almost worn off entirely by now. They had forgotten to shut the curtains. Being so high up this didn’t matter as far as privacy was concerned, but it gave the room - otherwise thrown into darkness - an odd glow from the lights outside, a luminous stream dispersed on Quen’s skin.

At last he shut his eyes and moved closer to her, and Abigail wrapped her arms around his chest with all the love she felt, hardly daring to believe that he was finally all hers.

Chapter Fourteen

What was it about water that was so peaceful? The sound of it falling to the floor of the shower stall combined with the sensation of its warmth engulfing her comforted Abigail. She reached out for the shampoo bottle and squirted some into her palm, then massaged it into her head. Had she ever felt this happy? She didn’t think so. She grinned to herself as she squeezed the residual shampoo out of her hair. Like most other girls her age, she had always wanted a boyfriend, but she would never have guessed how truly wonderful the whole experience was. The sensation of him touching her, of their skin coming into contact, of him moving on top of her was quite beyond the boundaries of any of her fantasies. It was real.

She combed her hair through with conditioner, feeling it go smooth as she washed it out. It was New Years Eve, and she and Quen would be leaving the hotel today. They had spent four days and five nights in the hotel together, talking and sleeping and making love. Sometimes they went out for dinner or walked to the park that was nearby. Abigail felt completely and utterly besotted, in love with her own feelings and basking in the elation of being around Quen. Their time together felt like something in a dream world, like something out of someone else’s life. Quen was a different person to who she had ever known him as, but in a way that she liked: there was no cryptic undertone to him, the untouchable air was missing; he was open to her and so much more trusting that she wondered why she hadn’t noticed the absence of trust before.

She turned off the shower and stepped out of the stall onto a mat, grabbing a towel quickly to preserve her warmth. She wrapped another towel around her head, rubbing it to get the chief of the water out of her hair. Once dressed, Abigail hung up the towels neatly and carefully pulled down the door handle, opening the door onto the bedroom. A quick glance at the bed told her that Quen was still asleep. Smiling to herself, she moved forward and sat on the edge of the bed next to him.

“Quen,” she said softly. “Wake up.” He mumbled incomprehensibly and she resisted the urge to giggle. He looked so cute lying there all curled up, his hair all over the place and his eyes screwed up as he fought to stay asleep. Abigail tried again. “Quen, darling, you have to wake up, we have to go soon.”

Slowly - and very reluctantly - he opened his eyes and looked up at her blearily. “Morning,” she said with a laugh, and he waved vaguely, flopping onto his back with a groan. “Did you want some tea?”

“I hate tea,” he grumbled. “What time is it?”

“About…” she glanced over at the clock. “About eleven.”

“Eleven!” He shot up and stared at her for a moment, looking at the clock to check she was telling the truth. His eyes were wide with horror. “Abigail, we have to go!” He began to shuffle out of bed but she blocked him.

“No, listen to me,” she said.

“I’m not ready to go at all, you should have woken me!” he said weakly.

“I would have done, but I have a reason, so calm down, okay?” He stopped moving and looked at her. She scooted closer to him on the bed. “Look. They don’t officially take a registration until tomorrow. If we got there on time, we’d only be getting there for mealtimes and unpacking. They only make us come a day only to make sure everyone’s organised for the next day. We’ll be fine turning up a bit late, Quen, and it’s not like we’re missing the party in the evening or anything.”

“You used to be so sensible,” he mocked her, laughing and slumping back into the pillows. “What happened?”

She lay on her side and nestled next to him. “I think I fell in love,” she said softly.

He turned his head to smile at her, but as he did so his face fell.

“What is it?” she asked him, alarmed.

He looked uneasily up at the ceiling. “It’s just that us going in later sort of attracts more attention to us, you know?”

She supported herself on her elbow so that she could sit up and look into his eyes. “Is that a problem?” she asked him quietly, in a way that suggested he should think carefully before giving an answer.

“It might be,” he said distantly, still staring upwards. “Miss Kirby thinks I’m gone for good. I don’t know how she’d react if I came back, especially us two going there together…” He trailed off. Abigail settled back onto the bed, listening closely to his breathing, which was rhythmic and calming. “You said she and my dad split up for their own protection… does that mean she’ll expect us to do the same?”

It was the same conversation they had already had many times over. As much as they both tried to avoid it, one of them irrevocably ended up bringing it up all over again. “I don’t know,” she answered truthfully. “I’m starting to think that’s what all the police visits were about. I can’t think of another reason, and that sort of ties things together, doesn’t it?” She shifted almost imperceptibly towards him. “Are you sure this is what you want?”

He laughed through his nose. “What I want is for all this to be over, or as much over as it can be.”

“I meant us,” she said quietly. He turned his head to look at her but she found she was not capable of meeting his eyes.

“You know I do,” he whispered. “I don’t want anyone but you. I love you… you know that, don’t you?” She didn’t answer, but rolled towards him, slinging an arm over his chest.

“We’ll sort this out,” she said to him. “I promise you Quen, we’ll get to the bottom of this and make things safe for you. For both of us. We won’t give up like they did. No matter what happens, we’ll always have each other. Through everything.”

“I know,” he answered, stroking her back. “We can’t give up.”

*

They didn’t feel quite so confident once they had actually reached the school and were standing outside the gate, knowing that their sudden arrival was bound to make an impact. It was about ten o’clock and the party had already began. “What do we say to Miss Kirby again?” Quen muttered to Abigail, gripping her hand tighter than before.

“I don’t know, I guess just that…” but she trailed off as a thought struck her. “Quen,” she began, “we’re being so stupid about all this. We’re adults, and we can decide for ourselves what we want to do. We’ve made the decision to stay together, and we are not going to be treated like children and be reprimanded for it. We love each other. They can deal with it, or quite frankly shove it.” Quen blinked at her. “Let’s go in,” she said.

They separated as they came to their respective buildings, and met ten minutes later dressed much more smartly. Quen grimaced. “Time to go I suppose,” he said.

“You know what I remembered? All the Year 13s always used to disappear off somewhere during these parties, and I reckon they went to the common room. I bet you people are in there, and that would at least be a little more low key that parading into the dining room.”

“That’s a shame, I was looking forward to the parading,” joked Quen as they walked.

As soon as they reached the common room they realised Abigail’s hunch had been right: a storm of noise greeted them, with the sight of people dancing on tabletops and all around the room. They spotted Freddie and Gwenn laughing together at one side and began to move over to them, but were intercepted almost immediately by Florence and Geraldine in very short dresses.

“Quen!” they cooed, somehow managing to step between him and Abigail, so that she was pushed off to the side. “How was Christmas? Can you believe it’s nearly the new year already?”

Rolling her eyes, Abigail turned and continued to walk over to her friends. Gwenn saw her and shouted, “Abigail! Come here!” and embraced her in a sisterly hug.

Freddie did the same. “It’s good to see you,” he said. “I take it Quen and you came back together then?”

“Yes,” Abigail replied carefully. “We did.”

“Well I think it’s great!” said Gwenn joyfully. She hopped excitedly. “Please tell me you guys are a couple now!”

“Kind of,” she admitted, chancing a glance at Freddie. He was looking down at the drink in his hand, his face somehow holding both expressions of reserve and ease, as if he hadn’t heard her.

“Ooh, there’s Aaron,” Gwenn said happily, giggling a bit. “See you guys later!” They watched her as she sashayed over, her hips swaying slightly in time to the music, black skirt swaying with her. Aaron was leaning against the wall with a bottle of beer in his hand, looking sullen and impenetrable, his gaze on the floor. He looked up suddenly - maybe Gwenn had called his name - Abigail couldn’t tell from where they were - - and his whole physicality changed. He straightened up, making him appear taller. His knees loosened up, his shoulders rounded. And then came the slow, smooth smile. He looked… relaxed.

“Interesting developments tonight,” Freddie remarked to Abigail, who was glancing around to see that Quen was still with Florence and Geraldine.

She decided to play dumb. “Yes,” she said, forcing herself to look instead at Gwenn and Aaron. Gwenn was laughing, Aaron smiling. “Yes, it’s strange, but in a way they kind of suit.”

“I suppose so,” Freddie agreed noncommittally. “But actually I meant you and Quen. How long have you…?” She turned to face him, not hiding the apprehension she felt at this discussion. “You don’t need to tell me,” he added quickly. “I’m just interested, that’s all.” There was a pause, then they both broke eye contact and looked around the room.

“Abigail,” said Freddie unexpectedly and she turned to look at him again. “I just want you to know… I’m really pleased for you.” He hit her playfully on the shoulder and she relaxed.

“Thank you,” she said. “That means a lot to me.”

He smiled at her, visibly relaxing. “I’m glad. I mean it, you know. You’re a great person, and if he couldn’t see it, then…” He shook his head, then beckoned for her to come nearer him for a hug.

Just then, Natalie, a vision in a black velvet dress with a pink ribbon tied around the waist and in the plaited hair, rushed into the room closely followed by Sean. They didn’t stop to talk to anyone else, but made for the study room, the door of which was near to where Abigail and Freddie were standing.

“If you can’t tell me what’s wrong…” she hissed, but didn’t say anymore. Instead she beckoned him to follow her inside the empty room.

Gwenn appeared quickly and she and Freddie shared a meaningful look. Quen came over a second later thankfully minus Florence and Geraldine.

“Is everything okay with those two?” he asked. “That looked a bit… intense.”

“I don’t know,” they all replied, surreptitiously shifting closer to the windows that looked in on the room Natalie and Sean were in.

“That’s a nice hello,” Gwenn said, but the joke fell flat as they could hear Natalie yelling.

“Gods, Sean, it’s like everything that happens to your parents has to effect us, too!”

“Well, I’m so sorry!” he retorted. A small glance through the window told them that he had started pacing. “But how can I concentrate on my own relationship when the one that brought me here is falling to pieces?”

“You don’t have to concentrate --” Natalie hit the wall with her fist, a very un-Natalie-like action. “ - you just have to trust that I will be here for you when you need it. I can’t change anything Sean. But think about it. If I based all my relationships on my parents relationship then we wouldn’t be together in the first place.”

“Well, maybe we shouldn’t be together.” His voice was like ice.

Natalie looked stunned. She didn’t speak for a moment. “Sean - what?” she choked desperately. “No! You can’t throw everything all away just because your parents have decided to do so. Why? Why aren’t you listening to me? I love you, Sean!” She had burst into tears.

“Natalie.” His voice was set, monotone. “I don’t think I can handle this anymore. It’s not worth it.”

“Don’t… say… that,” sniffed Natalie, distraught. “Don’t ever say that to me!” And with that, she charged over to the door, threw it open and stormed out nearly injuring Freddie in the process, then without so much as a backward glance fled out of the room.

“That’s a lot of steps in heels that size,” observed Gwenn, “and she’s got a long dress on too. Hey,” she said quickly, laying a hand on Abigail’s elbow as she had been about to bolt out the door after Natalie, “let her fume for a bit. Let her cry. We’ll go and speak to her later - she probably just wants some alone time for a moment.”

“I wouldn’t go and see him, either,” she continued seriously. “He’s got to be wound up if he’s saying stuff like that.” They all nodded in agreement, trying not to stare in at Sean who was now slumped on one of the chairs, his elbows resting on his knees and his hair flopping over his face.

“Happy New Year, Freddie,” said a new voice, and they turned to see Jeanette standing with a large bottle of champagne.

“It’s not quite New Year, Jeanette,” he pointed out.

“No maybe not, but it’s still good to celebrate isn’t it?” Her eyes travelled over them all and then fell on the windows. Her gaze darted back to Abigail. “Say, where’s Natalie?” she asked innocently. “I thought she would be with Sean, but obviously I’m mistaken.” She smiled maliciously.

“What are you looking for Natalie for?” sneered Gwenn. “Going to ask her to help you fix your wig?”

Jeanette’s eyes narrowed in anger and she moved quickly, pulling open the door to where Sean was. They all stared at him from the doorway and he looked back at them. Jeanette gave a despairing sigh, moving into the room with her back to Sean. “Guys, I’ve already told you,” she said reproachfully, “you can’t go blaming him without know what’s going on, so butt out okay?” She reached and shut the door with a slam. Gwenn instantly tried to pull it open again but Jeanette had already locked it.

“You evil -” Gwenn stammered, as Jeanette hastily drew the curtains shut at the windows.

“Leave it,” Abigail told her warily. “There’s nothing we can do, and Sean probably doesn’t want to see us right now as it is.”

“You’re right,” agreed Gwenn and the four of them dispersed from their post by the door.

Even when they went back to the very heart of the room where people were dancing and Quen came over and kissed her on the neck Abigail didn’t feel better. Much. A flash of understanding shot through herself and Gwenn as she laid a hand on Aaron’s waist having found him again. Saria sighed but smiled happily for them at the same time, and Macy gave a knowing look as she tapped Saria on the shoulder, her palm outstretched.

Chapter Fifteen

The room was small and bleak with no windows save a minute one in the roof. There was no furniture, wallpaper or carpet. The floorboards were uneven and cold and hard to sit on. Abigail drew her knees up to her chest protectively, one of the soles of her feet scraping against a raised nail head. The man in front of her stopped pacing abruptly to stare at her, his eyes devoid of emotion.

Her breath came in short bursts. “What do you want?” she sobbed.

He didn’t answer. She put her head down and let tears fall into her nightdress, her chest heaving painfully. She heard footsteps but when she raised her head again he had gone through the doorway. Tentatively, Abigail backed up against the wall, supporting herself to stand. She shuffled slowly to the side until she was directly in front of the doorway looking down the dark passage, but this was not empty. The man from before was nowhere to be seen but in his place stood Aaron, who turned in the span of a second and pointed a gun at her.

Abigail staggered against the wall as the bullet hit her, pinning her there by her chest. Her head smacked against the wall and her eyes flew open to see the ceiling…

She was in her bed. She realised that straight away, but her heart was still beating very fast. It had been so vivid! She turned over, drawing the cover up around her and mulling over the dream in her head. She didn’t recognise the first man. In fact, the more she tired to remember it, the less she could recall pictorial details of his face, the memory slipping away as fast as sand in an hourglass.

She heard a cough and realised that Gwenn must be awake too. For some reason she felt guilty about something, and searched herself to realise it was the presence of Aaron in her dream. Deciding to let it go, Abigail sat up slowly and looked over at Gwenn’s bed, where she was leaning up against the headboard, her eyes half-closed.

“Gwenn,” she called softly, and Gwenn’s eyes jerked open as she turned to look at her. Abigail beckoned to her. Gwenn slowly slid from her bed and began to walk over, her duvet trailing behind her. She sat cross-legged on the foot of Abigail’s bed, wrapping the duvet around her like an overlarge coat, leaning against the board.

“Can’t you sleep?” Abigail asked her in a whisper.

Gwenn shook her blonde head. “No,” she said, “there’s a lot on my mind right now, you know?”

“Yes,” replied Abigail glumly, “I know how you feel.” A snuffling sound to their left brought their attention back to Natalie.

“Poor thing,” murmured Gwenn sympathetically. “How do you think she’ll cope without him?”

“I don’t know,” she answered truthfully, watching as Natalie turned restlessly but did not wake up. “To be honest I don’t really remember her from when she and Sean weren’t together. I can’t really imagine it now.”

“Neither can I,” said Gwenn. “But she’ll be fine, I’m sure of it.”

Abigail nodded to make up for the fact that she could not think of anything to say. She cast around for a change of subject, and attempted to look indulgent. “So,” she began, “did you have a good evening with Aaron?”

To her surprise - and disappointment at the arrival of yet more pessimism - Gwenn’s face fell. She dropped her gaze and said, “It was lovely to see him again.”

Abigail prompted, “But?”

She looked unwilling to go on, but after a moment swallowed and looked back up, continuing, “I don’t know if you noticed that we walked away after awhile.” Abigail nodded so as not to interrupt. “We were trying to find somewhere more private,” she said, thankfully grinning, “but we didn’t want to go to either of our rooms. Natalie was in here and there was too much of a possibility of being interrupted in Aaron’s room.”

“So what did you do?”

Her smile widened. “We kind of went into the male changing rooms.”

“Gwenn!”

“Shh!” hushed Gwenn with a look of alarm. “You’ll wake Natalie. Anyway, yes, we did, but it’s okay, no one came in or saw us or anything.”

Abigail waited for her to continue, and when she didn’t she tried to encourage her: “What was it like?”

Gwenn eyes snapped up again. “We didn’t do anything,” she said simply, “not really. We hadn’t turned any lights on so it was really dark, but basically his shirt was off and I felt along his back and it didn’t feel… right.”

Abigail frowned. “Right?” she reiterated. “How do you mean? Did it feel kind of… sinful, or something?”

“No, no, not like that,” she said. “It didn’t feel… smooth. His skin felt disfigured along his spine. I had no idea what it could be, and to be honest it was kind of scaring me, so I went to go and turn on the lights.” She breathed out heavily. “He shouted at me not to. He even tried to grab my hands, and he’s never done anything like that before. It was insensitive of me to ignore him - maybe it was the drink, I’m not sure - but despite his efforts I still went and turned on the lights. When I did he was standing there with no shirt on not meeting my eyes and I looked him over and he was…” She drew a shaky breath, “He was completely covered in scratches and bruises.

“I mean I can’t even get the image out of my head, of him just standing there with all these scars on him. He wouldn’t look at me. He was ashamed of himself and I knew it. We talked for hours afterwards about everything. He’s been so unhappy, for ages, and he doesn’t have any real friends, he’s had no one to talk to before me.”

“Gwenn,” said Abigail slowly, “I’m sorry, I don’t understand… How did he get the scars in the first place?”

Tears leaked from the corners of her eyes. She shook her head and they began to fall. “His father,” she breathed.

Abigail’s blood ran cold at her words. She remembered the day in the library when she had been avoiding Quen and Freddie, so went to meet Aaron, and saw him with his father. She remembered the helplessly dejected expression Aaron had on his face, his father speaking plainly, strictly. The way Aaron held himself, as if he could never relax. His father turning and speaking to her, smiling and shaking her hand with his own, the same one that caused so much damage to another human being. She suddenly felt violently sick.

“Gwenn,” she choked, “I don’t know what to say.”

“Neither do I,” she sobbed. “Abigail, I am so, so scared for him. I don’t want him to go home ever again. I don’t know what to do.”

Abigail shook her head, feeling as though someone was squeezing her brain from the inside, giving her and migraine with all this cruel news.

*

On the first day of lessons Abigail and Gwenn were late to form time. This was not for a good reason, such as in comforting Natalie - who had yet to emerge from her bed - but for a more trivial one.

“I can’t find them anywhere!” Gwenn moaned.

“They have to be around here somewhere, Gwenn,” said Abigail, rushing about and looking under every pile of anything.

“It’s no use!”

Abigail flopped down on her bed in despair. “When was the last time you had them?” she asked, trying to keep patience, checking her watch all the while.

Gwenn replied decidedly, “Yesterday. Definitely yesterday.”

“And you’re sure you brought them with you back to school, you didn’t leave them at home?”

“No, I had them on me yesterday.”

“Well then they have to be somewhere,” she repeated stubbornly, sitting up. As her feet moved backwards they collided with something. Abigail bent and looked under her bed to see a pair of ballet shoes, too big to be her own. “Gwenn,” she said, grabbing them, “here they are. Let’s go.”

“What were they doing under your bed?” she asked as they made their way downstairs.

“I don’t know,” said Abigail, “you tell me, they’re your shoes.”

“It was your bed,” Gwenn argued.

“It’s not like I deliberately took your shoes and hid them Gwenn, I don’t want to be late on the very first day!”

“No need to be so snotty about it,” said Gwenn, neglecting to hold the door open for her. Abigail growled in irritation and hauled the door open herself, following Gwenn in her path to the main building where their form room was situated. The minutes passed in silence but both girls used this time to get over their moodiness and were perfectly pleasant to each other by the time they reached the room.

“Why are you girls so late?” asked Miss Kirby, looking up from her desk, reading glasses still on. “You were supposed to be here five minutes ago.”

“Our roommate is ill, miss,” said Gwenn on cue. “We were trying to help her out before coming down, she wasn’t feeling at all well.”

With a sigh and slight shake of her head, Miss Kirby looked down to mark the two names on the register and said, “Very well. Sit down please girls. I have a few announcements to make.”

Gwenn and Abigail shuffled to the back of the classroom where Quen and Freddie were already seated. Abigail took the seat next to Quen, Gwenn next to Freddie. Quen gave her a smile but could not speak as Miss Kirby had already stood up. There had been a low rumbling of noise but now the class fell completely silent. The teacher surveyed her form.

“As you know, your exams will begin in May and June depending on what subjects you are taking. Practical examinations, such as any Physical Education exams or performance orientated ones may be earlier, but you will have to speak to your subject teachers to find out the specific dates.” She paused. “I am well aware that it is only January, but it is still a good time to get going on your revision,” she said, ignoring the groan that echoed around the room.

“I mean it,” she continued sternly. “It will all help in the long run. Now, a few notices: the swim team practice has been postponed until Friday; Mr Dachal is going on a course. Anyone wishing to play hockey next week should hand their name in at reception; they’re trying to make up an official list…

“Yes, I think that’s it for now. Well, you can all busy yourselves; I suggest by organising anything you need for today, but please do not leave the room until I let you go.” Talk began to break out, quietly at first but gradually getting louder. Miss Kirby shouted over the noise, “I am going to use this time to speak to a few of you. First of all I need…” Her eyes skimmed a piece of paper, but Abigail was of the opinion that her eyes flicked back up too quickly for her to have naturally read that fast. “Quen Leven.”

Quen and Abigail glanced briefly at each other. “Good luck,” she mouthed as Quen stood up and went over to Miss Kirby, who opened the door and ushered him outside.

*

It was break time when Abigail met Quen in the common room.

“Walk?” he asked her pointedly, and they made their way outside so that they were standing in the courtyard, the same place that Abigail and Gwenn had watched Sean and Natalie. Something pinched in her stomach.

“Have you spoken to Sean?” she asked Quen.

“Yeah, I have.” She looked at him, waiting for him to go on. Quen blinked at her. “Only in passing,” he carried on. “I haven’t talked to him about Natalie.”

“Why not?”

“It’s really not my place to,” he said with a shrug. “I mean, I’m not his best friend, and I don’t know Natalie that well, so…” He trailed off. “If anything, it’s Freddie’s job to talk to him; Natalie is his cousin.”

“I don’t understand where he’s coming from at all,” sighed Abigail. “He and Natalie never fight like that. They love each other so much, always have done.”

“Things change, though,” said Quen. “His parents are getting a divorce, you know? It’s no wonder his faith in relationships is destroyed.”

“But still,” she said. Neither of them said anymore until Quen quite abruptly reached over and took her hand in his, comforting her without words.

“What happened with Miss Kirby today?” she asked him.

“She asked me to tell you that she wants to see you in her office sometime this week,” he said. “Reading between the lines, I think she wants to convince at least one of us to give up on this and move on.”

“Why?” exclaimed Abigail angrily. “What does it really have to do with her? I know she and your dad had a relationship and she wanted to stay with him and all that, but what’s to say the same will happen to us? We’re going to look into this and find out what happened with your great-grandfather and fix things once and for all!”

“I think,” said Quen gravely, “that her point is, if she and my dad couldn’t figure out the hows and whys, we can’t either.”

“But we can!” she hollered again, gesturing wildly in frustration.

“I know,” he told her calming, catching her wrists in his hands to calm her down. “We’ll work things out.”