For the moment, on Public
Chapter One
“It began one day in late August, when a particularly zealous young girl decided to be stupid and pretend that she could ice-skate when that in fact wasn’t true…” Abigail swatted at her younger sister Marlee with a towel from her precarious place on the edge of the bath. She was soaking her feet in lukewarm water containing tea tree oil. She felt that they deserved this after the abuse they had received that very afternoon in the form of ice-skates. Marlee glanced downwards. “You’ll ruin your -”
“My feet are already ruined, I think that’s what dance lessons do to you,” Abigail pointed out. She too looked down and examined her feet. There were scars along stretch of skin from the bottom of her ankle to around her toes, and her toenails were bruised. She shrugged to herself, pulled the plug out of the bath and began towelling the invalids dry. The water gurgled noisily as it swirled down the plughole.
“You’d be a pedicurist’s nightmare,” Marlee laughed, following Abigail out onto the landing. “At least ice-skating doesn’t ruin my feet too much, even if I can’t do one of those pirouette things.” Abigail obliged to these words by demonstrating them with an elegant twirl. “Show off,” Marlee complained, but she was laughing. One after the other, the sisters trotted into their shared bedroom and collapsed onto Marlee’s bed. “Don’t get those feet on my bed, though,” she warned.
Abigail sighed wistfully. “Don’t worry, soon my feet and me will be back at school and away from you until Christmas.” She sat up and looked around the room. Abigail’s favourite colours were earth tones, like brown and green, but Marlee was more struck on pinks and purples. As a compromise, their décor was blue, with green bed linen for Abigail and pink bed linen for Marlee. Right now, Marlee was wearing a pink tee-shirt and a faded denim skirt and white flip-flops and was looking up at her sister from where she was still lounging on the bed.
“I will miss you, Abigail,” she declared fondly. “I find it really hard being the oldest. I’ll never be half as sensible as you always manage to be.”
Abigail shook her head. “I’m not always sensible.”
“Oh, go on, you get As in all your subjects. You’re at a sports school, where really all you need to be good at is dance, yet you’re still succeeding in all those other dire subjects you force yourself into.”
“I don’t force myself into anything,” Abigail replied, “you have to take other subjects, and I realise that there are other things than just dance; life’s all about balance.” She shot her sister a particularly harsh glance. “Which translates to: this year I think it should be more about ASes, less about Tom.” Marlee opened her mouth. “I realise he’s gorgeous and fun and whatever,” Abigail continued hastily, “but do well in your ASes, Marlee. It’s not like GCSEs; it’s all your own subjects now. You have to. The others look up to you.”
Marlee nodded. “I get you. But it’s hardly all my own subjects, is it? I’ve got Maths retake lessons twice a week!”
“It’s only for a little while,” Abigail consoled her. “Then you’ll be free to spend it with Tom or whoever else happens to be ‘boyfriend’ at that time.”
“Abigail!” Marlee was scandalised. She shook her head and changed the subject. “So when do you leave for school?”
“Two days time.”
“I take it you’ve almost packed everything, then?”
“I have.”
“Bought your train ticket?”
“Yes.”
“Arranged what time to meet Freddie?”
“Eight o’clock.”
“Bought mum’s birthday present?”
“Ye -” Abigail began on reflex, then stopped and looked at Marlee in horror. “Oh… no…” Marlee laughed at her.
“There’s always something, isn’t there? It’s okay; we’ll go into town tomorrow. More time for sisterly chats.”
“Yes,” agreed Abigail absentmindedly, still slightly in shock. “Yes. Well, we should take Jennifer with us too, then.”
Marlee pulled a face. “But then Olivia will want to come too. God, even the boys will want to tag along!” Her sister merely laughed.
“You’re forgetting that I never see any of you, and so I have no qualms about them tagging along. We’re so lucky, Marlee, to have such a big family.” Marlee made a noise to suggest otherwise, but Abigail was not to be dissuaded. “Seriously. I know it’s strange to say we’re a family of eight, but at least we all get along well. Mum and Dad do everything for us, no one ever feels left out or anything. David’s the most mature fifteen-year-old I’ve ever come across, and -”
“Have you ever thought how weird our ages gaps are?” Marlee cut in. Abigail inclined her head in thought. “I mean,” she continued, “we’re a year and a half apart. David and I are a year apart. Then Jennifer’s two years younger than him, Olivia’s three years younger than her and then Bernard’s three years younger again. Doesn’t exactly follow a pattern.”
Abigail smiled. “Yes it does. Two girls, one boy, two girls, one boy. Mum and Dad planned things perfectly!” And she stood up to check over how much money she had for Mum’s present, or if she’d need to get out more.
“A talent at least one of their daughters acquired, anyway…” muttered Marlee.
*
Two days later, Abigail stood anxiously on the platform of a train station. It was at times like this that she wished she had more pairs of eyes than one; she was giving herself a headache looking around so much. She was carefully keeping an eye on her luggage, glancing at her watch and then to the screen which had the train times, down the track quickly to see if the train was coming yet, down at her luggage again, and - though she was trying not to look - at some people standing, in her opinion, far too close to the yellow line. The train was due at any minute. She bobbed up and down on the balls of her feet in anticipation.
“Excuse me, miss?”
She looked around to see who had spoken, slightly ruffled that her fastidious ritual had been interrupted. The source of the voice was an old man; he was in dirty attire - including a ripped beige overcoat and scuffed leather sandals - with matted hair and watery blue eyes. He had a somewhat oily look about him. Abigail stiffened but did not turn away.
“Yes?”
He smiled, though it was slightly leering. “I was wondering if you could help me. I’m trying to get to Brighton.” She sighed, checking the clock again. Her train was due in exactly one minute.
“You need Platform 2,” she told him, trying to be concise. “If you get to Kings Cross and then go on the underground, you can check on a map to see which line to take from there.”
He made a sound that wasn’t quite a cough, but more of a wheeze. “But if I didn’t want to go on the underground?” She chanced another anxious glance at the clock: she was running out of time.
“I’m sorry Sir, I’m not sure about -”
“But you could help me! Help an old man out, there’s a good lass, wouldn’t you come with me to London?” Abigail heard the sound of a train and turned around: yes, it was hers. The man was still talking. “C’mon, please? I’ll buy you a drink.” She couldn’t even be bothered to be polite; her patience had run out so she continued to ignore him. The train was almost at the station, it was so near -
“Ouch!” Abigail reeled around in shock as she felt a sharp pain in her forearm. The man had tried to grip her arm but had only managed to pinch her skin instead. Seeing that he had hurt her, the man backed away in fear but in the process knocked her suitcases over backwards. She groaned and reached for them, but only ended up mimicking her luggage as she slipped and landed on the ground.
Wincing, she began to straighten up, but felt a hot blush flare across her face as the sound of laughter reached her ears. She looked around to see that the train had by now pulled into the station and stopped. The carriage doors had opened. Standing in the carriage right in front of her, doubled over in mirth and tears streaming down his face, was Freddie.
“Shut it,” she said shortly, hoisting her luggage into the carriage and stomping on after it. Brushing dismissively past Freddie, she headed to a seat, opened her travel bag and took out a book.
“Aw, come Ab,” he protested. “I’m sorry, but that was hilarious. Have you ever thought of being a stunt double?” She continued to ignore him, flicking a page in her book with an air of utmost superiority. He flopped down onto the double seat opposite her, grinning lazily. “Because you should definitely think about. That is, if you weren’t such a great dancer.”
Abigail found herself weakening, and besides, she wanted to distract him from laughing at her any longer. “How’s your summer been?” she asked, putting down her book
He sighed. “Oh, it was okay. I mean, a bit…” He cast around for the words but didn’t seem to be able to find any. “Female-dominated,” he finished decidedly. “It’s not like I’d want to go and live with my dad or anything, but with the three of them there, it’s a bit oppressive, and sometimes downright scary. I mean, you should’ve seen what happened the time I left the toilet seat up.” He raised his eyebrows at Abigail and drew a finger across his throat.
She giggled. Freddie’s parents were divorced and so he lived with his mother. Sometimes, his aunt would stay with them: she was a fellow divorcee and also had a child of her own of the same age, the only difference being that she was a girl. In recent years, Abigail had befriended Natalie as well, although she didn’t see a lot of her these days because she was usually with her boyfriend, Sean. However, Abigail liked Natalie very much: they had even been assigned to share a room together last year. But it was still Freddie who Abigail was closest with.
In their first year, pupils were divided into form groups according to surname and regardless of anything else. Abigail quickly made friends with a girl called Caitlyn, who in their second year girlishly confided to her that she had a crush on Freddie. Accordingly she began trailing him and his friend Quen around everywhere, Abigail resigned to joining her. Although the four of them became friends, romance never transpired, and overtime Caitlyn and Abigail began to drift apart. She didn’t mind as she now had the two boys, and when Caitlyn left at the end of their fourth year it only caused her a slight twinge.
The rest of the journey was passed with lots of fun and laughter, reminiscing over old memories and wondering what would happen after their final year, what they would do and where they would go. The train finally pulled into their designated station in early afternoon. Freddie and Abigail picked up all their belongings and hurried off the train, keen to do so before the doors shut and they missed their stop. Panting slightly from all this concentrated effort, they laid down their belongings on the platform before turning to face each other.
“Come here, you,” Freddie crooned affectionately, and he held out his arms. She moved forwards and wrapped her own arms around him, enveloped by his arms and his warmth. She felt, as always with Freddie, comforted and protected from the rest of the world. When she broke away, it was to see two familiar figures in the distance, seemingly searching for something.
“Quen! Natalie!” she shouted. Natalie whirled around, long brown hair flying, then charged towards her friend and cousin, hazel eyes shining. She pounced on Abigail, impressively maintaining a stream of chatter all the while, “Oh my God Abigail, I had the best summer ever, Sean and I went on holiday together and it was just bliss! I can’t believe it’s already time for school again, can you? But I am looking forward to it.” She broke off and Abigail looked around to see Quen, who was walking with Freddie, Quen carrying his own luggage and Freddie having gone to retrieve Natalie’s from where it was left before she came to hug Abigail.
Natalie stepped back and chewed her lip, looking between Quen and Abigail.
Abigail felt a familiar fluttering in her stomach but gave it her customary inattention. She smiled at Quen. “Hey you.”
“Hi,” he replied, smiling back. They looked at each other for a moment, but broke eye contact at the sound of Freddie coughing. Natalie clapped him on the back.
“Well, I guess we should get a taxi or something,” Quen stated reasonably. Everyone nodded and, picking up their belongings for what felt like the hundredth time that day, began walking out of the station. Once outside, a taxi soon pulled up. Everyone loaded in their bags and then got in: first Natalie, then Freddie, then -
“Abigail?”
She looked around. “Yeah Quen?”
He smiled. “How was your summer?”
“It was good, I guess. How about yours?”
“A bit of a mixture. But I suppose I can tell you all about it once we’re at school.”
“Yes, of course.”
“Well then…” He shifted forward and briefly put his arm around her waist, giving it a bit of a squeeze. “It’s good to see you. Well, I suppose we should -” He gestured to the car.
“You go in first,” she offered. “You sit by Freddie - we caught up on the way here, and I’m sure you have a lot to talk about.” He nodded and thanked her, then got inside. Abigail permitted herself one small sigh before following.
Chapter Two
There was only one way to describe the school building, and that was magnificent. It had once been a church in the renaissance period and was very large, with tall, grand windows and a beautiful bisque marble exterior. The grounds themselves were also pleasant, with a large garden containing a maze that had excited them for their first year of being there, and a little further away a river that ran behind the school that students were allowed to swim in. The school specialised in Physical Education, and catered for all sorts of sports. Apart from Abigail’s prowess in dancing, Natalie was a particularly keen netball player, whereas Freddie and Quen were both into athletics. Sean, Natalie’s boyfriend, was a swimmer. It just so happened that he was right in front of them as they all clambered out of the taxi, standing at the gate and holding a cigarette. Seeing Natalie, he threw his cigarette onto the ground, blew out a puff of smoke and beckoned for her to come to him.
“Really Sean,” Natalie scolded. “You have to be more careful,” she indicated the cigarette, then stubbed it out with her shoe. “You’re going to burn down a building one day, honestly.”
“That’s all you’re worried about?” Abigail queried, once they had all said their hellos and were making their way up to the school, “that he doesn’t cause any damage to buildings? What about -”
“Well, I’ve tried,” Natalie replied earnestly. “But he’s intent upon not listening to me about smoking, so what’s the use?” She poked Sean in the ribs. He kissed her cheek in reply.
Each pupil spent every first day of every year sitting around until their name was called to tell them which room they had been assigned to and to issue them a key. Everyone was looking forward to it this time, as the students in their final year were always given the biggest rooms with an en suite bathroom and the best view. Usually the rooms had two, three or four occupants. Last year, Abigail had shared a room with Natalie and a girl called Jeanette who she utterly disliked, but whom Natalie got along with slightly better. This year she was hoping to get a room that was just her and Natalie. She knew Jeanette was very friendly with an equally spiteful girl called Vivien and hoped therefore that they would be sharing a room together instead, rather than she herself having to deal with her.
“At least we can wait in the common room this time rather than having to sit around in the dining room,” Quen pointed out and they all nodded fervently in agreement.
They walked through the aforementioned dining room, squeezing past excitable children who were clearly overjoyed at the thought of boarding school and the adventures that lay ahead for them. They smiled conspiratorially at those who looked nervous as ever, nodded to the students in the year below that they were on speaking terms with and mostly ignored the others who weren’t of any interest to them. Eventually, they reached a corridor, and began to walk down it, their luggage feeling increasingly heavy by this time. They reached the end of the corridor. Pushing open the door, their ears were filled with the noise of animated chat and their eyes were obscured with the vision of so many students, many of them friends, all lazing on the sofas and armchairs, or else sitting on chairs and even tabletops.
Two girls, one a small Asian girl, the other a redhead walked swiftly over. Their names were Florence and Geraldine, and they were in Abigail’s English class, though both ignored her as they made a beeline for Quen. Sighing, and thinking that some things never changed, Abigail ignored this display and carried on towards a group of more friendly girls who Natalie was already standing with.
“I’m sure of it,” she heard Saria say, “it’s got to be this year. This year will prove everything.”
“You said that last year,” countered Macy in a bored voice, “and the year before that, and probably even the year before that, now that I think of it. And we’re still no closer to knowing who it is.”
“Well, I still say Freddie. Have you seen the way he looks at her?”
“But she and Quen have this vibe when they’re together. If you ask me, Abigail’s just -”
“What’s going on?” Both girls suddenly shut up and looked guilty, alarmed at this new voice.
“Er… hi Abigail!” Saria stammered unconvincingly. “Oh my goodness, is that Martha over there? Sorry, d’you mind if I just -”
“Yeah, me too,” said Macy and they both hurried away.
“What was that about?” Abigail asked Natalie, as the two remaining girls looked away, as if they too had been caught in the act.
Natalie rolled her eyes. “Oh, the usual,” she said. “They’re betting on who you’re most likely to fall in love with.” Abigail blushed profusely at this. Natalie shot her a sidelong look. “If you were to ask me, I’d say Quen -” Her heart skipped a beat, “- I mean, who could find Freddie attractive?” They all looked over to where he was sitting with a group of boys from their year, laughing uproariously at something. His straw-coloured fringe - always swept slightly to the side - had fallen into his eyes and his grin was giant. “Disgusting,” Natalie added with a small wrinkle of her nose, but Abigail rather thought that this opinion wasn’t likely to be shared: there were quite a few girls eyeing him at this moment.
“Abigail, Natalie!” Macy was calling them from the other side of the room, where four teachers were seated two to a desk, one sorting out the male dormitories, the other sorting out the female. Abigail and Natalie made their way over to a desk where two teachers, Mr Daschal and Ms Kandy, were sitting with a long list of names and a box of keys in small plastic bags with the room numbers on. Last year it had been common knowledge that Mr Daschal and Ms Kandy were ‘seeing each other in a social capacity’ but now no one cared so much; it was just accepted. Mr Daschal, a cheerful black man who managed the swim team, grinned at the two girls and said, “You’ll have to wait a second, Macy’s just gone to look for your final person.” His tanned girlfriend drummed her fingers on the desk, looking around the room for whoever it was.
Abigail was curious about who their other roommate would be - Please not Jeanette, please not Jeanette! - but was at this moment more interested in looking towards the other desk, where her favourite teacher, Miss Kirby, was sitting. Miss Kirby was Abigail’s form tutor and mentor, who she would go and talk to about school-related issues. Over the years, Abigail had begun to visit Miss Kirby’s office more and more frequently, eventually not only to talk about school but all sorts of things. The teacher and student were very alike and eventually came to know each other almost like friends. Abigail enjoyed hearing Miss Kirby’s stories about her own youth. Now, the teacher looked up and smiled, but indicated that she was busy by pointing at the list, but mimed, “Come and see me later.”
“I’m here!” Forgetting herself, Abigail groaned out load as she turned to see Jeanette.
“Excellent,” said Mr Daschal. “Room one hundred and thirty-four, girls, south building, top level.” He handed over the keys.
*
“I’m thinking of cutting my hair.” Natalie was lazing on her bed in the dormitory of room One Hundred And Thirty-four. It was the middle bed, with Jeanette’s nearest the door, and Abigail’s by the windows. Abigail herself was sitting at the window seat, looking down on the courtyard through the large windows and fingering the soft plum curtains. Jeanette was out at the moment presumably visiting Vivien, who, she understood, she was distraught to be separated from yet again.
“What do you think?” Natalie persisted.
“I don’t know,” Abigail told her truthfully. “You know I don’t know anything about that kind of stuff.” She reached up to tug her own light brown hair, the ends of which were almost blonde. “I just leave my hair as it is.”
Her friend acted as if she hadn’t heard her. At that moment, Jeanette came barrelling in. “I would like to cut my hair,” Natalie went on, “it’s been long for ages. And I wonder what Sean would think?”
“Surely Sean wouldn’t be bothered by looks?” Jeanette asked. “He was telling me he only believes in inner beauty.”
“Well, yes, of course,” Natalie commended, looking a tad ruffled. “I’m not saying my looks are everything, but I do like to impress him.”
Jeanette sat down on the end of Natalie’s bed and smiled. “No, I get what you mean,” she simpered. “It’s important not to let yourself go, or anything. I’d hate it if I was all skinny, no curves.” She shot Abigail a particularly nasty look.
Natalie laughed, not seeing it. “Well I can’t say I agree with you there, Jeanette, I’m definitely quite skinny - I wish I was like Abigail and could be slim and curvy.” Jeanette proceeded to look grumpy at these words. She crossed one long leg over another, her wide shoulders set in a testy manner. Jeanette wasn’t exactly fat - hardly anyone was overweight at this school, owing to the amount of sports - but she had a large frame: long arms and legs, wide shoulders, big hands and feet. It was Abigail’s guess that she was quite insecure about these assets, which is why she referred to them so strenuously as her ‘curves.’
“Anyway,” Jeanette continued, with a pout, “I don’t think Sean would notice if you cut your hair. Boys don’t notice that kind of thing.” Natalie looked thoughtful. Jeanette’s expression shifted slightly as she continued, watching Natalie closely. “Although, sometimes they do I suppose… In fact, my sister had her hair cut recently, it was so nice. What kind of cut did you want?”
“I don’t know really… shoulder-length, some layers, maybe some lighter brown and some red highlights to give it a lift?”
“Oh my gosh,” gushed Jeanette, “that is exactly what Pina had done! And then her boyfriend saw it,” she glanced at Natalie, “and finished with her.”
“No!”
“Yep.”
“Oh, come on,” interrupted Abigail, no longer able to stand it. “There must have been other reasons, not just her hair.”
Jeanette sneered reproachfully. “She was the perfect girlfriend, I’ll have you know,” she insisted, wagging a wide finger at Abigail, “but Sean - his name was Sean too, you know - just didn’t like it. He said it made him realise their differences and that, really, the change in hair was symbolic of the change in her, and… that was it.” She finished dramatically, watching Natalie closely.
Natalie chewed her lip in thought.
“Think about it for a bit longer,” Jeanette suggested.
Fed up by now, and knowing that it was no use contradicting Jeanette if she was expected to keep sharing a room with her this year, Abigail stood up and announced, “I’m going to see Miss Kirby.” Jeanette rolled her eyes but didn’t say anything.
“Okay,” Natalie said to her, acknowledging her with a smile, which Abigail knew to mean that she felt for her where Jeanette was concerned.
Abigail got up and walked out, closing the wooden door behind her. There was no one around in the hallway; maybe they were still unpacking, or else down in the common room. The bedroom that she shared with Jeanette and Natalie was the second dormitory from the stairs situated on the corner. She walked down the stairs until she reached the next floor, which was, similarly, a corridor with a lot of doors. Walking along to the end of this one, she came to its front door. The air outside was still quite warm as she proceeded towards the main building. Miss Kirby’s office was in the Psychology department, which was on the first floor.
As she approached the teacher’s office, she heard loud, strained voices but couldn’t quite make out what the words were. She moved cautiously towards the door and heard a man’s voice, “I’m sorry, but I don’t want to do anything that would cause suspicion. If there were any other way…”
“You’re just doing your job,” came Miss Kirby’s voice. “I do understand, but that won’t make me enjoy this anymore.”
“I’m sorry to have to have asked you this. It’s an awkward circumstance, but by coincidence probably the easiest and most effective means. Take as much time as you need and report back to us.”
“Of course.” There was a scraping noise: chairs were being pushed back as they stood up. Abigail looked around awkwardly, wondering where to go. She settled for shuffling half-way back up the corridor just as the door opened and the owner of the voices became visible. The man turned out to be wearing all black including a hat: Abigail realised with a jolt that he was a policeman. The policeman smiled at Miss Kirby then began to walk away.
“Abigail!” exclaimed Miss Kirby. Abigail thought she saw the policeman turn around at that point, but couldn’t be sure as Miss Kirby had already began urging her into her office. She stepped in obligingly, comfortably positioning herself on her usual chair. It was opposite the teacher’s chair behind her desk, which she now occupied. The room was a comfortable size with the standard large, ornate windows and a beautifully crafted desk.
“Why did you have a policeman visiting you?” Abigail inquired curiously.
Miss Kirby opened her mouth slightly, looking at Abigail with a most peculiar expression on her face. However, the expression was quickly replaced with a smile - slightly uneasy, but mostly normal - and she said, “I don’t know that I can tell you that. I might explain in future, but right now…” She trailed off, a hint of hopelessness in her voice.
“It’s okay, you don’t have to tell me.”
There was an awkward pause.
“How was your summer?” said Miss Kirby suddenly, and Abigail hastened to answer her.
Chapter Three
It was a Friday morning in late September, just over a week away from Abigail’s eighteenth birthday. She loved Fridays because they began with a double free period. While most people used this for a chance to catch some extra sleep, she usually used them either to get some reading or extra study done, to take a refreshing walk through the grounds, or to go swimming. It was the latter that she was doing today. The swimming pool would be used for a lesson once school officially started, so she had to get there early if she wanted some time.
At present it was deserted, just the way she liked it. The tiles were cold under her bare feet. Her hair was tied up in a low, messy bun. Abigail uncoiled the towel that was around her revealing her modest black swimsuit; bikinis and the like were not tolerated for lessons anyway, but Abigail just didn’t see the point in them as it happened.
“Hi there.” Abigail started, then turned around to see Quen. He was standing in nothing but swimming trunks, a towel slung casually around his shoulders. “How’s it going?”
“Good,” she replied, smiling, and cursing herself for the fully-fledged butterflies that were prancing around in her stomach. “How about you?”
“It’s good, yeah,” he said. “It feels weird being back at school, having people tell you what to do and stuff. It’s like being a child again.”
She nodded, understanding why the concept of being a child was alien to him recently. Quen was an orphan: his parents had died while he was still young. He had been raised in a foster home that might as well have been an orphanage for it had so many children living there. At the age of sixteen, Quen decided to leave and bought his own house with the money his parents left him. Over the summer he got a job at a building site and was now saving up to buy a car.
“Aren’t you lonely?” Abigail had asked him over the phone that summer.
“Sometimes, I suppose,” he replied. “But there are the people I work with, and some girls who live near that I hang around with sometimes.” She had tried to ignore the uncalled for twinge she felt at these words.
“Getting in?” he asked her shyly. Abigail smiled and sat down at the edge, letting her feet and calves sink into the cool blue of the pool. She breathed out at the sensation of cold water hitting her bare skin, and looked around for Quen. He was -
“Don’t you dare!” she shrieked as he ran forwards and jumped in. She squealed as the consequence of his jump splashed all over her.
Quen grinned as he came back up, his dark curls flattened by the water. “You were going to get wet anyway,” he pointed out fairly, then hastily began swimming away, because Abigail had jumped in and - despite wincing at this sudden chill - began attempting to splash him back, chasing him around.
Eventually they had to call a truce, and stayed in the deep end together, treading water. “I missed you over the summer,” Quen admitted, not looking her in the eyes. “It’s weird not seeing you and Freddie every day. I don’t know what next year’s going to be like, I don’t even want to…”
“I know,” Abigail hastened to console him, “I feel the same, and so does Freddie. We’ll all still see each other, Quen. It’ll be fine. Trust me, at the end of this year things will be exactly the same as they are now.” Although part of her liked this thought - Freddie, Quen and her all staying best friends - another part felt like crying; she and Quen were still only ever going to be destined for friendship, no matter how devoted she remained.
“I hope you’re right,” he said. “I really do. I don’t want things to change.”
She sighed inaudibly, but nevertheless said, “I confidently expect things to stay the same. I mean that.”
*
That same day, Abigail walked into her English classroom five minutes early. It was empty except for her teacher, who was seated at her desk marking papers. She glanced up and said briefly, “Research lesson today. You can go to the library, tell anyone else you see along the way?”
Ten minutes later she was in the sizeably spacious library browsing the Shakespeare section when another member of her English class joined her. They glanced at each other then quickly looked away again, fixing their gazes back on the bookshelves. Abigail finally found a book that she thought looked useful, and made to remove it from the shelf, but it unfortunately resulted in quite a few books falling off with it. This event was followed with her companion bursting into harsh laughter. She sighed.
“Aaron,” she said resignedly, stooping to pick up the fallen books, “don’t you ever shut up?”
Cold grey eyes looked back at her. He was smirking. “Not with your two best pals today?” he enquired. Abigail merely rolled her and eyes and began searching for another book. Aaron was a member of the same athletics team as Freddie and Quen, and was horribly jealous of the two of them. Apart from being jeering towards them, he had also taken to annoying Abigail, too. Especially as they were in the same English class. “Or are they too busy fighting over your heart?” Aaron pretended to simper.
Seriously wanting to say something rather off-colour, but reminding herself that she was better than that and therefore resisting, Abigail turned around and marched towards a table. To her immense irritation, Aaron followed. She turned around abruptly to find that they were almost touching, they were so close. Both of them winced and backed up.
“Look,” she said forcefully, “I don’t know what your problem is -” except the fact that you’re an insufferable git, she added silently, “- but would you mind leaving me alone? We’ve both got work to do, okay?”
“No, it’s not okay as it happens.” She looked up at him. He stared back at her but she didn’t miss the way that his fingers picked absentmindedly at his pocket as though at a loss for where to put his hands. “We’ve been put together for this project. So yes, we have both got work to do, but it’s going to be together.”
Abigail felt her mouth fall open. Gaping and at a bit of a loss for words, she eventually stammered, “Well - you… you go and research Act Three then!” At these words, she turned and marched back into the Shakespeare section even though she had coined two adequate books already.
Still in shock, she glanced back to where she had left Aaron. He was sitting down now and not facing her. Against her own will, she felt a sharp stab of pity for him. He could be so arrogant, so insulting, and yet there was such a defensive, insecure air about him that Abigail could almost forgive him for it. That was her trouble, being way too compassionate. The boy was mean to her and yet she still felt sympathy. If he came to her to tell her his problems, she would undoubtedly forget the past and listen to him.
She would have to learn to harden her heart.
*
“How does it feel being almost eighteen?”
Abigail pondered carefully about this before giving her answer. “Like being seventeen, I suppose.”
Miss Kirby laughed. “I remember eighteen well,” she said dreamily. “I remember seventeen well too, come to that.”
Abigail crossed her legs, wincing slightly as she did so; it had been a particularly gruelling dance session that day. She looked at her teacher curiously. “What did you do when you were seventeen?” she said.
“Well,” began Miss Kirby, laughing again, “You know of course that I was a student here once? It was my last year of education, and I’d just been dumped by my boyfriend of two weeks, Wallace McGee. It was nearly time for summer.”
“Were you upset?”
“Oh, devastated,” confirmed Miss Kirby with a chuckle. “I was completely infatuated with him at the time. I felt like my heart was going to come out of my chest sometimes -” Abigail’s own heart started doing just this as she recognised this very sign from when she was with Quen, “- especially when he started polished his glasses with this brown cloth he always kept in his pocket -” Abigail’s heart returned to normal. “Funny, I can’t quite see what the attraction was now…” She stared off for a moment before coming back to earth.
“Anyway, that summer I was working in a small café close to where I lived, and one of my friends who lived near came to visit me. He knew about Wallace, you see, and wanted to comfort me as best he could. We’d go for walks during my breaks and go out to restaurants in the evenings. I had the money from my job and he came from a rich family, so our possibilities that summer were endless.
“It was complete and utter bliss. I’d go to work and I’d be serving the customers but it was like nothing was of real importance anymore, and no matter what I did he was always in the centre of my thoughts. The last two weeks of the summer before I went to university I didn’t work and we were barely out of each other’s company. His parents were away on a cruise and we stayed at his house together. I was completely and irrevocably in love.”
“And what happened?” breathed Abigail. She realised how it sounded almost immediately after she had said it and hastened to make herself clear. “What happened after that - what happened when you went to university?” She could put two and two together about what the two young lovers did in each other’s company during their summer of romance. It wasn’t as if she was going to ask Miss Kirby questions relating to the subject. As a student that sort of thing was completely inappropriate, Abigail thought fervently. But in the back of her mind something niggled in her brain that that wasn’t it anyway, and that in actual fact she was rather coy on the subject under any circumstances. Sean and Natalie had been together for a long time, but Abigail only guessed on that subject… Natalie had hinted to it, but they had never openly discussed it…
There was an unreadable expression on Miss Kirby’s face. “I’m not sure, to be honest,” she said quietly. “It was fine one minute, then next I knew somehow that it was slipping away. Then suddenly it was gone completely. We remained friends for awhile and I was invited to his wedding, but -”
“WHAT?” exploded Abigail in horror. “His wedding? But you said -”
Miss Kirby smiled kindly at her, reading her like a book. “We were teenage lovers, Abigail, that was all. Love is such a precious thing, and even to experience it once is amazing. My friend and I just never worked out. It happens sometimes. We had faults in our relationship that could never be corrected. He and his wife were very happy together.” She looked concerned. “Are you okay? Is there anything you want to talk to me about?”
“N-no,” stammered her terrified student, “I’m fine. I just don’t like break ups, I suppose.”
“But during the summer, or even now… is there anyone special in your life?”
“No,” replied Abigail a little too quickly. “No,” she repeated, more slowly. “Just my friends, of course.”
“Of course.” Miss Kirby glanced at her sideways. “So your friends… are you still close with the same people as before? Do you still see mostly Quen and Freddie?”
“Yes.”
“Either one of them anymore than the other?”
“Not really.”
“And both relationships are completely platonic?”
“I -” Her teacher was looking at her most intently. “Yes, we’re all just friends.” She thought she saw Miss Kirby look a little sad, but she changed expression as fast as a television changing channel and the look was gone.
“Okay then, Abigail. I’m sorry but I’m afraid we’ll have to leave it there, I’ve got some papers to mark. Enjoy the last few days of being seventeen!”
“I will do,” she assured her. “Bye.”
As she left, she looked back over her shoulder. Her teacher had made no effort to take out any papers but was staring fixedly out of the window. Something was definitely bothering Miss Kirby. Abigail’s curiosity was burning, but she didn’t want to intrude upon something that was obviously so private.
*
It was late by the time Abigail had crept back to the common room and there were hardly any students there, about ten in total. To her joy, she spotted Freddie, Sean, Natalie and Quen in some armchairs near the corner by a heater and radio. She made her way over happily but hesitated as she noticed the other two people that were there: Florence and Geraldine, Quen’s admirers. No one had noticed her yet.
“Sorry guys, but I’m completely exhausted,” said Quen with a yawn. “I think I’ll head to bed now.” He stood up.
Florence flashed him a smile. “Me too, Quen,” she said. “I’ll walk with you!”
“Me too!” Geraldine joined in quickly. “I’ll come.” They began to move towards the door, not even glancing at Abigail as she stood still, watching the group.
“Sure,” Quen replied graciously. “Let’s go.” He turned around and noticed Abigail. “Hi,” he said. “I haven’t seen you since this morning. Busy day?”
“Dance practice,” she explained. “I guess I’ll see you tomorrow?” He looked at her confusedly. “You’re going to bed now, right?”
Quen cocked his head to one side. “Well… I guess it wouldn’t hurt to stay up a little bit longer. Flo, Geraldine, you go on without me, I’m going to stay up.” He turned and sat back down. Both girls looked rather sulky at this news and stormed out. Abigail thought she could hear them bickering in the corridor. She ignored this and sat down in the armchair nearest Quen. Natalie and Sean were sharing an armchair, despite the fact that there were more than enough to go around.
“Go on, Sean,” said Freddie, possibly referring to an earlier conversation, “what happened?”
“Oh, mum and dad had another one of their fights,” he said airily. “Dad spent the night in the doghouse… Quite literally in fact, he really did.” They all laughed except for Natalie, who stroked Sean’s hair affectionately. “Sometimes I think they should just split up,” he continued, his voice not quite as even now, “it might make things easier.”
“I suppose that’s what a lot of couples think,” volunteered Abigail gloomily.
“It’s scary how many people split up nowadays,” said Freddie, surprisingly solemn. Abigail was reminded of the fact that he had continued to get more earnest with each year, always growing up a little bit more. “I don’t know what to think. Did marriage work better in the past, or did people just put up with it more? Divorce got cheaper in the sixties, too. Maybe that’s a factor. I don’t know… I don’t think it’s right. If I was to get married, it would have to be forever.”
Abigail nodded sadly at his words, thinking how true they were. Her thoughts turned to Miss Kirby and her lover. She had said that things simply fell apart over time, but surely there was more to it than that? She herself hated the thought of falling in love then losing it. Maybe it was okay if you were no longer in love with that person, but suppose you could never let go, and would always be left with the feeling, despite it being unrequited…
“What is it?” Quen’s whisper interrupted her thoughts with a jolt. She looked at him questioningly. “You were staring at me,” he prompted, not taking his eyes off her.
“It’s nothing,” she replied, doing her best to keep eye contact.
Annoyingly I can't post that much in one entry.
Next section.