He's After Me

Chapter TWENTY-EIGHT



My phone wakes us up. It’s Mum, wanting to know if I’m coming home for dinner. I struggle up on to my elbows.

‘I’m at Zoe’s, Mum. We’re revising for our French test tomorrow.’ Jem nudges me and I add, ‘I think I might stay over.’

‘Again?’

Mum’s voice is suspicious.

‘We’ve got loads to do. It’s easier, working together.’

There’s silence on the other end. Then Mum says, ‘You’re not with Jem, are you?’

‘No! Of course I’m not with Jem!’ Jem grins and starts to tickle my leg. I brush his hand away impatiently.

‘Only it’s strange how we haven’t seen hide nor hair of him since you’ve been at Zoe’s.’

‘He’s working, Mum. That’s why I’m taking the opportunity to catch up. You don’t want me to fall behind, do you?’

‘No, of course not.’ Mum’s voice is still uncertain. ‘So long as Zoe’s mother doesn’t mind. Can you put her on? I’d like a word with her.’

‘She’s out.’

‘Zoe, then?’

‘She’s in the shower.’

‘Anna? What are you up to?’

‘Mum! Trust me!’ I say, and end the call. Then I put my face in my hands and groan.

‘Maybe I should just get dressed and go.’

‘No! Don’t be daft! You’ve got work to do. By the time you get home, it’ll be too late to do anything. Look, I’ll make you a nice meal while you get on with it.’

‘But what about Mum? She doesn’t believe me, I can tell. She wants to speak to Zoe.’

‘Then ring her! Get her to phone your mum and tell her you’re there with her.’

‘I can’t ask her to do that!’

‘Why not? You said she was on our side.’

I sigh and call Zoe.

‘You OK?’ she asks.

‘Yeah, I’m fine,’ I say, puzzled, then remember she’d left at the point Jem was being a brat. ‘I’m at—’ Just in time I remember to stop myself blurting out that I’m squatting in my dad’s apartment with my boyfriend. I don’t think Zoe would understand. ‘Look, Zoe, I’m going to stay at Jem’s for a night or two.’

‘I thought he shared a room with two other blokes?’

‘He does. But they’re away.’

‘Well, that’s up to you, if that’s what you want to do. What are you telling me for?’ She sounds a bit cheesed off. Nothing new there.

‘The thing is, Zo, I’ve told my mum I’m staying with you. To revise for French.’

‘So?’

‘I’m not sure she believes me. Can you ring her?’

‘You want me to ring her? What for?’

‘So she knows it’s true.’

‘It’s not true.’

Silence.

‘You want me to lie for you, tell her you’re at my house.’

‘Yeah.’

‘You’re kidding.’

‘Please, Zoe.’

‘And what am I supposed to say if she wants to speak to you?’

‘Tell her I’m busy. Tell her I’m on the loo! Make something up! Please, Zoe. For us.’

My voice is pleading. There’s silence on the end of the line. Then finally she says, ‘For you.’

A message comes through from Zoe five minutes later. It’s short and to the point. Sorted, it says. Not even an ‘x', let alone a ‘lol’. But by that time I’m deep into my French revision, books scattered all over the bed and a glass of fizz in my hand, while Jem potters around in the kitchen getting some food together. It feels ace, like we’re a proper couple. If this is a sign of things to come, then I can’t wait to live with Jem in London. Bring it on!

That night we eat olives, sun-dried tomatoes, peppers, anchovies and little biscotti things that Jem has found in the cupboards. Very Mediterranean. And me drink champagne, of course. Afterwards he produces a box of dark chocolates, laced with brandy, which are totally delicious.

‘I’ll be pissed!’ I moan as I help myself to yet another. ‘And I’ve still got loads of work to do.’

‘No problem,’ he says, topping up my glass. ‘I’m going to disappear for a while, let you get on with it.’

‘Are you going out tagging?’ I say in surprise.

‘Nope. I’m going round to yours. Allay your mum’s suspicions. Then she’ll think you really are at Zoe’s.’

‘That is so clever!’ I say admiringly. ‘When will you be back?’

‘I won’t be long.’ He plants a kiss on the top of my head. ‘Now, get on with it! Leave the washing up. I’ll do it when I get home.’

Home. He’ll do it when he gets home. That is so sweet. I stretch out in the bed as he shuts the door behind him. I wish it was our home.

I wish I really lived here with Jem.





He lengthened his stride comfortably, feeling his heart rate increase. It was good to keep fit, to stretch out. He spent too much of his time hanging around, keeping an eye on things. He got worked up that way.

Now, running alone through the streets, he felt better. Calmer. More in control.

Was this what happiness felt like?