‘No, anyone so free.’
He toys with the back of my ear and I can’t help turning into his hand, it feels so large, so solid, against my cheek. Willow is touching my ear. I focus on the perfect bow of his upper lip. ‘I’m not free. I’m a slave. Your father’s slave, to be exact.’
His hand drops to his side, weighed down with shame. ‘I know, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean like that . . . It’s just, I don’t know, it probably sounds stupid me saying this, but I wish I could be more like you.’
This is it. He’s about to kiss me. I cup his flawless face in my palms and force his eyes to meet mine. I think my heart may have stopped beating, just turned to grit in my chest. But I deliver my line with confidence. ‘You can be.’
He stares at me for a moment. I anticipate his sudden movement, the taste of his lips against mine. I get this unexpected shudder in my windpipe, this feeling like I’ve just come inside from a snowstorm, my skin hot and cold at the same time. I let my eyelids close. This is it.
But he remains still, the kiss never arrives.
Instead, he says, ‘It’s my coming-of-age ball tomorrow.’
He’s moved straight on with the lines, he’s missed out the kissing bit. My heart jump-starts and my brain fills with all those insecurities: Is it because my breath smells? Is my hair too messy? Is it because I went off-script and talked about the decontamination process? Maybe I’m just not good enough.
But I stick to my lines. ‘Yeah?’
Maybe I should kiss him? But what if he doesn’t want me to? He’s so tall, I might miss and just kiss his chin. The four-letter word fills my head, all angular and spiked.
But he just smiles, completely oblivious to my inner turmoil. ‘Are you waitressing at it?’
Yeah.’
‘I’ll probably have to dance with every Gem socialite in the region . . . but I’ll save the last dance for you.’
‘I’d like that,’ I reply, my outer voice on autopilot, my inner voice still screaming profanities.
‘I better head back,’ he says.
I realize I’m still clutching his face. I try to let go casually, so he barely notices, but my palms kind of stick to his chin. ‘OK then.’
‘I’ll see you tomorrow? Yeah?’ He flashes his beautiful smile.
‘I’ll wear my dancing shoes.’
He kisses me on the cheek. On the cheek. And then he leaves.
I return to the Imp-hut, completely dejected, my worst fear confirmed – I’m hopeless with men. Even with a script, even without my gorgeous BFF cramping my style, I’m hopeless with men.
Nate takes one look at my face. ‘He didn’t kiss you, did he?’
I shake my head.
‘Why not?’ he says. ‘You didn’t dribble and fart and pick your nose did you? Because I warned you against that look.’
I daren’t tell him I went off-script and risked so much, just because I lost my cool. I’m just too embarrassed, too ashamed. Instead, I slump on to my bunk. ‘I guess he just doesn’t find me as attractive as Rose.’
Nate slaps his palm to his forehead. ‘Violet, it’s Monday night. Willow is meant to declare his undying love for you on Thursday night and follow you into the city. You’ve got three more days. If you don’t get him to fall for you, we’re stuck here . . . as Imps, in a world where Imps are lower than pondweed. You know that, yeah?’
‘I know,’ I snap. If I don’t get Willow to fall for me, we’re stuck here. If I do get Willow to fall me, I end up pirouetting on a rope. I think I’m about to start crying. ‘Don’t pile on any more pressure, OK? I feel like I’m about to crack as it is.’ I suddenly long for Katie’s grounded presence, to hear her gentle Scouse voice telling me everything’s going to be OK.
Nate sits beside me. ‘But Willow said the thing about the last dance?’
‘Yeah. And I said that cheeseball line about dancing shoes.’
‘OK, so that’s when we get it back on track.’ Nate smiles, like he’s the older sibling again. ‘Don’t worry, sis. It was a rubbish first kiss scene anyway. Behind a stable? Come on now, Sally, sort it out.’
Ash enters the Imp-hut. He looks tired, the blue of his eyes somehow dimmed, his skin almost grey. But when he sees me, the tiredness lifts and his oversized smile explodes across his face. ‘You ready for another night of hard labour?’ he asks.
I swing my legs from my bunk, sending a shower of straw on to the floor. ‘Always.’
‘I’ll come too,’ Nate says.
The smile never drops from Ash’s face, but I can tell from the firmness in his voice he isn’t about to argue. ‘Sorry, buddy. It’s a two-man job.’
‘Yeah, I bet it is,’ Nate says.
I accidently-on-purpose clip Nate with my boot heel as I dismount from the bunk.
Stepping out into the night with Ash feels good. In canon, Rose and Ash spent several nights together, working on the estate. But most of these scenes were alluded to in the book and never made it into the film, so there’s no script even if I wanted one. Surprisingly, this thought leaves me feeling relieved – I don’t have to say the right thing or stand in the right way.
We cut around the back of the hut and into the meadows. Without the heady scent of pollen, the air seems a little lighter, cleaner.
‘Why don’t you sleep on the estate?’ I ask. ‘In the hut with the rest of us? Why do you go back to the city every day?’ I remember Willow calling the Imp-bus the big old car thing, and I wince.
‘It’s my home.’ He kicks a stray fir cone from his path and it bounces off a squat stone wall.
‘But it’s so dirty and unclean.’
‘Yeah, well, it’s what I know. It’s where my family live.’
There’s no place like home. I get this aching in my gut. ‘Have you ever had any trouble crossing the border?’
He shrugs. ‘Yeah. Once I tried to smuggle out some supplies for Ma. This guard found them.’
I study his profile, almost silver beneath the moon. ‘What happened?’
‘They took the supplies and beat me unconscious.’
My knees seem to jam up. I turn to face him. ‘Were you OK?’
He rubs my upper arm like I’m the one who needs comfort. ‘Yeah. It was lucky I passed out. They didn’t bother shooting me and when I woke up, I somehow managed to crawl back home.’
‘That’s awful.’ I feel anger pushing through me in waves.
‘That’s the Gems.’
I think of Willow again, his perfect mouth forming those hateful words: It’s just the way it’s always been. I begin to feel very guilty for trying to kiss him behind the stable.
‘What about you?’ Ash asks.
‘Yeah. Nearly, but this Symp stepped in.’ I feel my cheeks fill with blood, and I fold my arms across my chest.
‘I’m sorry,’ he says.
‘Thanks. What were the supplies for?’
‘Just basic things – antiseptic, bandages. Stuff for Ma.’
‘Do you ever help her?’ I ask.
‘Deliver babies, you mean?’
I nod. Deliver babies. He makes it sounds so simple, so clean, like the postman just turns up and hands over a baby with a stamp on its head. But there will be no medication, no antiseptic or equipment. I bet it’s horrific.