I wasn’t ready for how empty I’d feel after all the death admin was done. Now it’s like BACK TO NORMAL, EVERYONE! But it isn’t normal, not even close. The farm feels huge. Mum’s absence is very much there: the dent in the sofa cushion; the pile of Jilly Cooper and Martina Cole novels, spines intact; the Welsh Dragon mug neither Margot nor me will use.
I’m actually quite looking forward to going back to school just to be out of the place, to be honest. I board the bus on the first morning back. As ever, Dewi is the only other passenger to begin with. ‘H-hello, Fliss.’
‘Hi, Dewi.’ I sit in the row in front of him.
‘Loving the h-hair. It’s very …’
‘Sinéad O’Connor?’
‘I was gonna say GI Jane, but yeah, now you mention it, like.’
‘Ha! At least that’s a new one. And who doesn’t want to look like Demi Moore?’ It’s already growing back. I have no intention of keeping it this short, the sheer amount of eye make-up and earring required to de-butch my head is obscene. That said, I do feel … lighter. That hair, now I think about it, was, old. I feel free of it.
‘I thought your dance was amazing, by the way.’
‘Thank you.’
‘I … I’m sorry I didn’t come to the funeral. It … It was D-Dad. He said it was a bit much, maybe.’
I frown. ‘That’s OK. A bit much?’
His big conker eyes fill with sadness. ‘Well, you know, it’s only a couple of years since we lost Mam to cancer. I think he just thinks it’s all bit too soon, like churning up old feelings or something.’
I stiffen in my seat. ‘Oh God, Dewi, I’m so sorry. I had no idea.’ I had no idea, because I never asked. I suddenly realise that I know almost nothing about a guy I’ve shared a bus ride with most days for the last five months. ‘What …? What type?’
‘Breast cancer. It ran in her family.’
I wince. ‘That like totally blows.’
‘Yeah, cancer can feck right off.’ We share in that sentiment for a moment. ‘I’m not going to say, “I know what you’re going through,” because obviously I didn’t know your mum at all, but—’
‘Thank you,’ I say, stopping him before I cry and snot all over his clean jumper.
‘I didn’t even know your m-m-mam was ill, like,’ he goes on. ‘It was only when I went to speak to Mrs Evans about Megan that she told me.’
I frown. ‘What? Megan? What do you mean?’
‘After you went f-full Ripley and hit her in the face with that mug. I told Mrs Evans that she’d been picking on you for weeks.’
Oh my God. I’d … Well, I’d just assumed that was Thom. ‘Oh, Dewi!’ I say, hand on heart. ‘I had no idea … I thought … Well, it doesn’t matter now. You saved my ass. You have no idea. I could have been expelled!’ I remember the way Rick Sawyer stepped in to save Margot that night in the graveyard. I guess sometimes there really are knights in shining armour, even if we don’t see them charging in on their steed.
He’s blushing ferociously. It’s very sweet. ‘It’s nothing, like,’ he says, looking down. ‘It was the r-right thing to do.’
‘Well, thank you. I really mean that.’
His hand is holding the bar on the top of my seat. I place mine over the top of his. I’m wearing my gloves, so it’s not quite skin to skin, but I still feel a very lovely, toasty heat.
‘Fliss …’ he starts, and I somehow know what’s coming next.
‘Not yet,’ I say, cutting him off.
He nods, understanding. Suddenly he rummages in his rucksack. He thrusts a Curly Wurly in my face. ‘I’m still working my way through my selection boxes. Do you want my Curly Wurly?’
I laugh. I can’t help it. ‘Well, there’s an offer I can’t refuse! Yes, Dewi, I will gladly accept your Curly Wurly.’ I unwrap the chocolate bar. ‘But this doesn’t mean anything, OK? I just like Curly Wurlys.’
He grins broadly. ‘Who doesn’t?’
Danny and Bronwyn are waiting for me in the library as we arranged by SMS. All of us got pay-as-you-go mobiles for Christmas. It’s so cool. How we managed without them is anyone’s guess. Mine has snap-on covers which I can mix and match to coordinate with whatever I’m wearing.
They greet me with big bear hugs. I haven’t seen them since the wake, which we held at the pub in town. ‘Are you OK?’ Bronwyn asks.
‘Working on it.’
‘There’ll be a new OK,’ she replies, and I know what she means. Me, Bronwyn and now Dewi: The No-Mum Club.
‘We got you something,’ Danny says.
‘Oh, you shouldn’t have.’ I take my seat at the table.
‘It’s not a present like that,’ he explains, and hands me a brochure. I look blankly at it like he’s just placed a dead kipper in my palm. ‘There’s a school of ballet and contemporary dance in Swansea.’
‘Danny …’
‘Fliss! You have to! You can’t stop now, you’re too good. You’re denying the world a beautiful gift if you don’t dance.’
I roll my eyes. ‘OK, I think that’s taking it a bit far.’
‘We called them,’ Bronwyn says, eyes twinkling with definite scampiness. ‘They have advanced classes. They said they’d be happy for you to come to a taster session.’
The fact they’ve gone to such effort makes me feel very loved and Pop-Tart-gooey inside. Do I feel like dancing? Hell no. But should I at least try? My duvet is like that snake in the Jungle Book, luring me to crawl under it and hibernate until the millennium. I should probably resist its call. ‘Guys! This is so lovely! You know what, maybe I will. Keep my feet busy, and stay out of Margot’s way.’
Danny frowns. ‘Are things not good?’
‘Things are … I don’t know. It’s just new. But I’ve had an idea for a little project that I want to try out first before I do any more dancing.’
‘What idea?’ Bronwyn asks.
‘I don’t wanna say until I know more. It might come to nothing. Do you know what time the town library’s open until?’
‘Six thirty, I think.’
‘Cool.’
Danny smiles slyly, taking a sip of his tea. ‘Guess where Bronwyn’s going tonight?’
My mouth flops open, goldfish style. ‘Starship Troopers?’
‘Yep! The seven o’clock showing at the Odeon in Swansea. We’re gonna get a Pizza Hut before too!’
I clap my hands together. ‘Bronwyn, this is huge! I can’t believe you didn’t message me!’
‘I didn’t want to bother you …’
‘Don’t be stupid! I could use the good news! What are you going to wear? Don’t get garlic bread, whatever you do!’
‘Are you gonna sit in the back row and French him?’ Danny asks, and I squeal. We’re not there yet, but The New OK is coming along.
I make my way to the public library straight after school. There isn’t one in Llanmarion (a little van comes once a week), so I catch a bus into the next town. The library, I’m told, was meant to be a temporary building while they renovated the old one, but it’s been here now since 1982. It’s a flat-roof block with pebbledash walls and a zigzag disabled ramp leading up to the front door.
The automatic doors open with a screech and I’m greeted by much-too-hot central heating and the smell of slightly baked pages. I love library books. I’d put all my books in plastic covers if I could.
A bank of chunky beige PCs is located at the far end past the reference section. There are five computers but only one is being used, by a teenage boy with a bad proto-moustache a bit like a thin gerbil snoozing on his upper lip. He’s looking at pictures of Melinda Messenger. ‘Are you allowed to do that?’ I ask.
He springs back (thankfully it’s still in his pants), grabs his rucksack and flees. I feel a little bad, but giggle to myself.
I pull a notepad, and Margot’s diary – slightly charred – and a cocoa-scented pen out of my satchel. I give the mouse a wiggle. A blank blue screen stares back at me. God, I don’t even know where to start. I click on Internet Explorer, take a deep breath and begin.