I couldn’t sleep.
It was early April, the summer term had started and all anyone in Year 11 was supposed to be thinking about was our GCSE exams, beginning in five weeks and six days, according to Katie, who was counting down.
I’d made the obligatory revision timetable, stuck it up on the noticeboard above my desk and spent an hour sitting with my chemistry textbook open, staring at the same diagram of covalent bonds until the time was up.
I usually had no trouble finding the motivation to study. I was planning on doing A levels in science and maths next year, so I could apply for a midwifery degree. Katie and Alicia were mildly jealous that I’d known for years what I wanted to do, and, if I put in a reasonable amount of effort, would be able to do it.
These past few days, my concentration had been slipping.
Since the cinema, Jonah’s nods had progressed to that full-on-eye-contact hidden smile he did when passing me at school or in the kitchen. Speaking of which, we seemed to end up in the kitchen together a lot more often than we used to. Maybe the thud of his trainers going downstairs did occasionally prompt me to notice I was thirsty. But equally often – yes, I was keeping a rough tally – he would appear after I’d been the one to head down for a snack. One day I found my library card in my jacket pocket, with a scrawled note: ‘thanks’.
We rarely exchanged a word. Maybe ‘Is your dad around?’ or ‘Mum’s made cookies if you want any.’
But the atmosphere crackled with unspoken thoughts. It was as though the air were thin, empty, until he was there, when it became hot and heavy, ripe with anticipation. Anticipating what, I daren’t consider. I drank in every glance, each time he brushed past me to reach for a glass or when he sat at the opposite corner to me at the dinner table. And while I could barely eat in his presence – thank goodness I had the excuse of exam stress, or Mum would have panicked about me developing food issues – I hungered for more of him, while at the same time feeling scared witless at the very thought.
He was my foster sibling. It went without saying that there were very firm boundaries that must never be crossed. So I dealt with my growing obsession by convincing myself that it would forever remain in my head, where it was safe. A silly teenage thing that no one, least of all Jonah, would ever suspect, and if he did, he’d be as disgusted and horrified as everyone else, so I didn’t have to stress about the consequences.
It didn’t stop me from dreaming about him, though.
Or keep me out of the kitchen.
So, on that April night, when the air was muggy, charged with a potential storm brewing, after spending hours twisting up in my duvet, stressing about my appalling lack of revision, pointlessly berating myself with all the reasons not to like Jonah, I eventually gave up and went downstairs to fetch a drink and some painkillers for the headache compressing my skull.
It was two in the morning. I could argue that it never crossed my mind that anyone would be up and about, so there was no need to pull a hoodie on over my vest top and pyjama shorts, or bother with a bra. But if that was true, there was also no need for me to brush my hair or check the mirror for new spots.
I slipped down the two flights of stairs and into the dining room, where we kept the medication locked in a filing cabinet as per fostering rules, the key hidden behind Dad’s favourite Robert Ludlum novel on the bookcase.
Two paracetamols in hand, I padded into the kitchen and navigated filling a glass of water in the dark, resisting the twinge of disappointment that the rest of the house was silent. Not ready to return to bed, I decided to step outside to finish my drink, hoping that the night air might help clear my head and cool my fevered heart.
I wandered along the side of the house to the wooden chairs on the far side of the patio, the slabs ice-cold against the soles of my feet. The only light source was a scattering of stars and sliver of moon above the roofline. I was about to sit down, when a slight movement made me jerk around to find a darker patch of shadows filling one of the other chairs.
I pressed a hand against my thumping heart, eyes adapting to the darkness as Jonah shifted again, the cigarette he drew to his mouth illuminating an apologetic smile. He was lounging back in one chair, his feet propped up on another.
‘I scared you. Sorry.’ A stream of smoke accompanied his words.
I was the type of girl who considered smoking to be a disgusting waste of money, scorning those who might consider it to be cool, let alone sexy.
But standing there, shivering in the darkness, a few paces away from this wild-looking boy, all angles, shadows and unknown dangers, who lived by his own rulebook – one that I hadn’t read, and couldn’t hope to understand – I felt bewitched. Consumed. Like if I took one step closer, it would change everything.
‘I didn’t expect anyone else to be out here.’
He glanced at the watch that my parents had bought him. ‘Understandable.’
‘I couldn’t sleep. Thought fresh air might help.’
‘Here.’ He removed his feet from the chair, pushing it a foot or so closer to me in the same movement.
‘Thanks.’ I gingerly sat down, pulling my knees up and wrapping my arms around them as I cursed myself for not putting on something warmer – something sturdier than the flimsy, faded cotton that hung loosely around my modest chest.
Jonah took another puff and then stubbed out the butt on a chipped plate that my parents had designated a makeshift ashtray, despite the strict rule that there was no smoking in the house.
‘Exams?’ he asked, eyes golden as they reflected the moonlight. I looked for any hint of disdain for the girl losing sleep over something so trivial but couldn’t spot it.
‘Partly.’ I grimaced. ‘Revision isn’t exactly going well.’
‘Does that explain all the snacks? Stress eating.’
My brain scrambled at the confirmation that he’d noticed my frequent trips to the kitchen. Of course he had. Jonah noticed everything.
I wished again for my sweatshirt.
‘Getting up and walking about for a couple of minutes helps get your brain working.’ I shrugged, relieved that my voice sounded impossibly calm. ‘What’s your excuse for being up? Are you worried about how your exams will go?’
He flashed a grin that disappeared so quickly I could have imagined it, if my bones hadn’t instantly disintegrated into mush.
‘I know full well how my exams are going to go. The only question is quite how spectacularly I’ll fail them. I’m wasting no time stressing about that.’
I didn’t offer any platitudes about how there was still time, or you never knew what might happen if you tried. I’d learned not to underestimate the impact of years of trauma followed by the monumental upheaval of being plonked in a strange house, the future a gaping black hole over which you had virtually no control. I found a stupid crush distracting. How anyone was supposed to care about physics or history while facing genuine problems like whether the court would send them home or if their mum was back on hard drugs was beyond me.
‘I guess exams aren’t really a priority right now.’
‘Right now—’ he stretched out his long legs until his feet almost reached mine ‘—the priority is to survive until Ellis and Billy don’t need me any more.’
‘What then?’ I asked, expecting him to share a wild plan about travel or a job.
He picked up the dead cigarette and rolled it between his fingers before slowly grinding it into the plate.
‘Then my work here on earth is done.’
I wasn’t shocked by his admission. Only that he’d shared it so willingly.
‘Maybe things will have got better by then.’
‘Things probably will get better. I won’t.’
His voice was flat, matter-of-fact.
‘You don’t know that,’ I whispered. ‘There’s always hope.’
He glanced at me, eyes glinting. ‘Why is it that you’re the first person to say that who could make me want to believe it?’
I shrugged, completely lost for words.
‘I’ve never met someone so relentlessly hopeful.’
‘What?’ That was news to me.
‘You chose “Wuthering Heights” for karaoke, despite not being able to sing for shit. You then belted it out as if ten-thousand people were loving every note.’
‘It sounds worse if you don’t go for it.’
‘You keep watering that plant on the kitchen windowsill. It was already long dead when I moved here.’
I shook my head. ‘Someone’s got to keep believing in the underdogs. You never know what a bit of love and attention might do.’
Jonah gave me a sidelong glance. Neither of us missed the double meaning in that comment.
‘Okay, so you’ve just given me a new life mission.’
He raised an eyebrow in question, mouth creasing in the beginnings of a smile.
‘Somehow, I’m going to find a way to infect you with my relentless hope. By the time Ellis and Billy don’t need you any more – which, by the way, is probably never; I can’t imagine not needing Nicky, and you’ve been through far too much together already – I’ll have given you a whole load of other reasons to stick around on planet Earth.’
‘Such as?’
I shrugged. ‘There are a lot of karaoke songs we didn’t get round to on my birthday.’
Before he could answer, the patio was suddenly flooded with light. Someone had turned the conservatory light on. I was still blinking away the dazzle when this was followed up by two gentle thuds on the window behind us.
Turning around, I saw Nicky, wearing her favourite llama onesie, peering at us with a huge ‘What the hell?’ expression on her face.
Before she could come outside and humiliate me, Jonah casually got up and walked back to the kitchen. As soon as he’d disappeared inside, Nicky slid open the conservatory door.
‘It’s two-thirty, Libby. What are you doing?’ she rasped, face still incredulous as I got up and pushed past her to get inside, flopping onto a wicker armchair.
‘I had a headache and couldn’t sleep, so needed painkillers.’ Although, for some reason, I’d totally forgotten about the hammer causing havoc inside my skull. ‘I decided fresh air might help, and Jonah was already out there, smoking.’ I shrugged my shoulders, as if trying way too hard to act innocent.
‘So, what, you thought you’d join him?’
I raised my eyebrows. Nicky had smoked more than a couple of illicit late-night cigarettes with girls who’d lived here previously.
She rolled her eyes in full-on big-sister mode. ‘I’m not talking about whether you shared a drag or not. Although, don’t. Smoking is totally grim and not your vibe. You were sitting alone together in the dark…’ She spluttered. ‘Half naked. Alone. Together. In the dark.’
‘Actually, Jonah was in jeans and his jacket,’ I said, fake cheerfully.
‘You are so not funny.’ I wasn’t often on the receiving end of Nicky’s glare. It would have been intimidating if I weren’t still oozing with giddy warmth from the conversation with Jonah.
‘You are so not my mother,’ I bit back.
‘Thank goodness! If Mum or Dad found out, they’d go ballistic.’
‘Why?’ I snapped. ‘I was having a drink of water.’ I held up the glass as evidence. ‘In the garden. We weren’t in my bedroom.’ No foster child, whatever their age, was allowed in there. ‘If I’d known he was up, I’d have put a jumper on. But I don’t think me in my ratty old pyjamas is that tempting. We were just chatting. We weren’t even sat near each other.’
Not near enough, anyway.
‘About what?’ she huffed.
‘Exams. What else? A token gesture of awkward conversation. Honestly, it was nothing.’
It was everything.
‘If I’m up and about at night again, I’ll wear my old dressing gown. Okay?’ I gave her ankle a playful nudge with my toe, hoping to defuse the tension. ‘Seriously, Nicky. Do you honestly think I’m sneaking around with Jonah King in the middle of the night? Right underneath Mum and Dad’s window?’
She chewed on her plait, eyes assessing me.
‘Even if he wasn’t our foster brother, just no! The very thought is completely rank. Give me some credit.’
‘Yeah.’ She squeezed in next to me on the chair, resting her head on my shoulder. ‘I’m sorry. It is rank. I’m ashamed for thinking it. I was just surprised to see you. And you actually look extremely cute in those pyjamas with your hair all mussed.’
I took a steady breath, deliberately relaxing my shoulder. ‘How often did we chat in the garden with Sabine, or Rani? You know they liked us to keep them company when they were up half the night, stressing. That’s honestly all this was. One minute of exam small talk with our new, long-term foster brother.’
‘Bronah.’
‘What?’ That made me burst out laughing.
‘That’s what I’m calling him, in my head. Is it too soon to try it to his face?’
‘Not at all. It’s perfect.’ I giggled, unable to think of a less suitable nickname. ‘Just make sure I’m in the room when you do.’
I got up. Without the distraction of Jonah, my headache was making itself known again. ‘Anyway, what were you doing up at this scandalous time of night? Looking to mooch a cigarette?’
Nicky closed her eyes, settling into the chair as if planning to stay there a while. ‘You aren’t the only one stressing about exams.’
I left her to it, a tentacle of guilt wrapping itself around me as I climbed the attic stairs. As far as I could remember, that was the first time I’d outright lied to my sister. Over the next few months, it wouldn’t be the last. Unable to share the truth with anyone, instead I pulled out my journal and poured it out between the pages of my dream house.