One Snowy Week in Springhollow Page 12

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  ‘My place for dinner tonight, no later than six-thirty and don’t be late,’ Hope says bounding over to me as the clock strikes five, and then she rushes out of the door before me, which is a first. We often leave together, or I take the lead if Hope needs to work late or I have dinner with my parents. I don’t get chance to tell her that I can’t and that I really need to get some work done on the Christmas fair project tonight.

  Speaking of my parents, I should probably call by and say hello to mine before heading to Hope and Jess’s. We’ve missed our weekly dinners due to them being away and I know my mum will be expecting me; it wouldn’t be respectful for me not to greet them after their absence and see how they are. My dad, not being the tyrant my mother is, will just be excited to see me and catch up on all that has been going on in my life while he’s been away. I try and pop round to his building site during my lunch hour with a coffee at least twice a week so we can chat. I love learning all that I can about building, woodwork and tools, and spending time together – just the two of us. It’s nice not having to put on a pretence for my mum and occasionally getting to help and get my hands dirty.

  I finish typing up my idea for a monthly Village Gazette, which I plan to put to Hope tomorrow. Now that I’ve written it down and hashed it out, it seems plausible and like this could be great going forward. Then I pick up mini Devon and tuck him into my backpack. Maybe mini Devon can work his magic and get me through a visit with my mother unscathed.

  I love both my parents. They’re my parents – they raised me, fed me and kept a roof over my head – but it’s safe to say that though one should never show favouritism, I’ll always be a daddy’s girl. While my mum works at Duncan’s hairdressers and is forever trying to organise me, change me and wish me that little bit more girly, my dad is a builder and even now I don’t think he’d stop me if I tried to shimmy up the scaffolding to see if I can fly. Though one doesn’t need any more broken bones and I think I’ve learnt my lesson there.

  He was always letting Devon and I run around the building sites making dens with wood and planks, when there was no work going on of course, and we wore our helmets. My dad is the only one, other than Devon, who supported my comic book aspirations. He was heartbroken when I gave it up and will still, every now and again to my mother’s disappointment, bring it up.

  I put one foot through the half-opened front door when my dad swings it wide open with a big grin on his face. ‘Scar, do you know who’s back in town?’ he asks, pulling me in, ruffling my hair and slapping me on the back with great enthusiasm. Word sure travels fast around these parts; they’ve been back less than twelve hours. I kiss my dad’s cheek before my mum enters the hallway and gives me an air kiss.

  ‘Oh, she doesn’t need to concern herself with Devon – she’s a grown-up now,’ she says bluntly, waving my dad’s comment away while ushering me into the kitchen. I think my mum has always felt outnumbered by Dad and I, and that was only heightened when Devon was around. I think she thought Devon leaving would mean she’d get more time with her only daughter and with less of a bad influence around, that maybe I’d start taking interest in hair and fashion, but that wasn’t to be and the whole incident only put a strain on our relationship more and we’ve never been especially close.

  I see Mum around the village and have dinner with her and Dad once or twice a week, but it’s never the most casual of affairs. Mum usually talks of her need for grandkids, asks about promotions at work, when I’m going to start dating and tries to get me to go shopping with her. Dad usually sits back, only occasionally giving me the “why did you give up drawing?” speech. It’s hard to be mad when I know his heart is in the right place and I have to admit, it’s nice to have someone around who appreciates that about me and gets me, even if I can’t act on it.

  ‘Nonsense, Pam. Of course, she’s going to see Devon and say hello. You’ll bring him around won’t you, Scar? My favourite tag-team duo back together again. Ooh you two sure did keep me on my toes.’ My dad beams fondly.

  I can’t help the grin that spreads on my face with my dad’s words. He knew how much I struggled when Devon left. He’s never forced me to be something I’m not and back then he was always there with a positive word, telling me to keep my chin up and that Devon would be back, whereas my mum took to suggesting I try this and that, pushing me into different clubs and telling me I’d make new friends.

  ‘Did you know that Richard just broke up with Rachel? You two always looked so cute together way back when you were in nursery. He’s a vet and so handsome. His mother is coming into the salon this week. I’ll have a word,’ Mum informs me, getting straight to business when I visit. She’s busy making tea while Dad and I are sat at the kitchen table. He rolls his eyes at me behind her back and gives me a small wink, so she doesn’t see. ‘You need a sensible man, darling. Someone sophisticated who has their life together,’ she adds and I know this is her way of saying I need someone to knock some sense into me and bring a little decorum and purpose into my life. ‘And, where’s that pretty polo neck I got you for work last week? Did you go to work like that today?’ she questions, giving my attire a disapproving once-over.

  ‘You know Devon’s a movie star now, Mum? He’s probably got loads of money. He even wears suits; I mean he can’t be wearing his Superman pyjamas on the red carpets, now can he?’ I say, sending a wink back my dad’s way, as my mum turns around and places two cups of tea on the table. ‘And this is the blue polo neck you got me,’ I add, tugging at the restricting neckline.

  ‘Oh, honey, celebrity is such a fickle business,’ she says, looking at me sympathetically, like I’m being serious; she never did get my sarcasm. ‘Oh, well, it looks beautiful on you, darling,’ she comments waving at my blouse. It clearly didn’t look beautiful if her expression was anything to go by; there is obviously something wrong. ‘Are you going to grow out that hair of yours?’ Ah, there it was. It would no doubt look better if my hair was longer; my mum is pushing my last nerve today and I’ve been in the house less than ten minutes. I’ll wear her clothes, but I am not about to let her style my hair too.

  ‘Well, you will have to be sure to tell D on Thursday when he comes for dinner,’ I say suddenly feeling like a child again, wanting to stand up for Devon and ignoring my mum’s ambush about my hair. My mum falters as she sits down.

  ‘Thursday?’ she questions. I stand up, not in the mood to further debate with my mum and not wanting to be late for dinner with Hope and Jess.

  ‘Yes, Thursday. He’s coming for dinner on Thursday night. He wanted to say hi to you both while he was in town,’ I lie, feeling a little woozy with the words coming out of my mouth. Before my parents can see me turn pale, I turn and leave the kitchen. ‘I’m glad you got home safe; I’ll see you Thursday evening,’ I shout as I let myself out.

  I quick-march to Hope and Jess’s while the reality of what I have just done sinks in. Devon and I are in the middle of a fight, well, no, not even in the middle of a fight. We had a fight and now it has ended, we have made peace and have no reason to talk. I have my mini Devon and he has my Superman cape. It was all going to plan, where we could fly off into the sunset and not look back, so why on the earth did I go and invite him for dinner with my parents? He doesn’t need me to stand up for him anymore.

  The snow crunches beneath my feet as I push open Hope’s gate and walk up her path. Wait, I can just tell my parents that important movie star stuff has come up and Devon won’t be able to make it. OK, my dad will be a little gutted, but my mum can just add it to her list of reasons why Devon is trouble and a disappointment.

  As a plan is swirling around my brain, the snowflakes are swirling around me under the moonlight when Jess answers my knock on the door.

  ‘You’re early for a change,’ he informs me, teasing. I smile in response, a bright and sarcastic smile, as I shiver and step into the hallway. ‘Go through, Scarlett. Hope’s cooking.’ He takes my coat and hangs it up.

  I h
ear nattering in the kitchen between clatters of spoons and pans and wonder if Hope needs help, not least because she’s talking to herself but because cooking usually makes her frazzled; she’s a great cook but tends to panic when cooking for guests, even when it’s only me.

  When I enter the kitchen I freeze on the spot and my stomach takes a rail spill. Devon is sat at the dining table. He’s wearing a relaxed white cotton shirt with long sleeves, slim jeans and his hair is making curly shapes that stick out every which way; like it used to do when we were kids risking the damp and rain for the sake of keeping a lookout for any supervillains in Springhollow.

  We say “hi” in unison before Jess claps Devon on the back. ‘Let me show you my action figure collection,’ he says. Devon gets up off his stool, relaxed and at ease with that slight jerk of enthusiasm he does when he gets excited about something. ‘Yeah, man, sure.’ He nods at me as they walk into the living room.

  I’m still glued to my spot while Hope continues cooking casually, like this kind of evening is a daily occurrence.

  ‘What’s he doing here?’ I ask in a hushed, fast whisper, making my way over to the small island where Hope is dicing tomatoes.

  Hope’s eyes go wide under her giant glasses. She stops with her wrist movements and looks at me.

  ‘Don’t be mad,’ she pleads.

  ‘I feel like you’re saying that to me a lot this week,’ I reply.

  ‘It’s just we were having such a good time on Saturday until Ruby spoilt it. I’m not standing up for him for what he did, and I know there’s still hurt there but after listening to your fight, it felt like there was so much more you both needed to say. And then your eyes lit up when he gave you that gift. You both still care. And besides his press finished early today, and I couldn’t risk him sitting alone in the pub or wandering the streets of Springhollow where anyone could get their paws on him, like you-know-who,’ she says, putting the back of her hand to her mouth as she says the last bit in a whisper.

  ‘That’s what his security guards are for,’ I say, still a little shook up from shock.

  ‘You know what I mean. If he’s with us, then Ruby and the paparazzi can’t get to him and weave their fake little stories,’ Hope finishes explaining her plan, which is actually not a bad one. But after our big row and exchange of toys I’m wondering if Devon and I will be able to co-exist in this plan.

  ‘Why don’t you go check on the boys. Dinner’s nearly ready and I’m certain you’re itching to see Jess’s comic book collection up close and personal, having resisted all these years.’ She winks, throwing the tomatoes into a bowl with lettuce leaves and olives.

  For a moment I hang my head in an apologetic and embarrassed bow but with Clark Kent’s secret identity having been revealed – that’s me, I’m Clark Kent in this instance, with my love of superheroes officially out in the open, thanks to Devon’s return – I can’t help the bubble of excitement that shoots through my veins at what Hope just said and I grin at her broadly.

  I make my way towards the living room, a bundle of nerves because a) Jess and Hope’s living room truly is a treasure trove of awesome memorabilia and this will be the first time I’m stepping into it not under a false facade but as the nerd that I am, and b) Devon’s presence makes something shift inside me. All the childlike inspiration bursts forward and joy bubbles in my gut, yet something about that terrifies me at the same time. I want to act like ten years is no big deal but just like at the pub I’m scared to let go – feeling like nothing good will come of me letting my joy free, well maybe expect for a finished comic book.

  ‘Scar, look at this.’ Devon strides over to me the minute I enter the room, holding a vintage 1984 Superman Kenner figure. All nervousness evaporates along with any notion of being sensible and guarded, as I take in what Devon is holding.

  ‘Whoa, I never noticed Jess had one of these.’ I hold it delicately; Devon’s fingers graze mine as he eagerly examines the object too, giving me an electric shock.

  ‘Ow,’ we say in unison, not taking our eyes off the figure.

  ‘I’m going to check on Hope.’ Jess leaves us to ogle and drool over his vintage toy collection.

  ‘So, I saw your office today,’ Devon notes when it’s just us. When I look up, he’s right there, our noses inches from each other. My breath catches. Devon turns away sharply, catching his shin on the coffee table as he does so. His dorkiness is only accentuated by his now-tall frame.

  ‘Oh yeah, thank you for my voodoo doll, saved me the hassle of making one.’ I smirk. He scratches the back of his neck and chuckles nervously. ‘I’m kidding, D,’ I add, looking around at the shelves and shelves of comic books.

  ‘I know,’ he stutters, just watching me. ‘Thank you for the cape – it meant a lot.’

  ‘No problem. So, what did you think of my office – well, Hope’s office?’ I ask placing Superman back in his glass cabinet and trying to keep the conversation light and void of too many feelings.

  ‘Er, yeah, it’s good,’ Devon mumbles bending down to rub his shin.

  ‘It’s good?’ I question and roll my eyes.

  ‘Yeah, it’s nice. Can I ask a question?’ He looks at me with his deep brown eyes. I look away and ogle the colourful comic books instead, trying not to salivate at the condition they are in.

  ‘Hope and Jess said you don’t draw. You didn’t answer me when I was at your house. Did you ever send your work to those publishers?’ he enquires, his hands running up and down the front of his shirt, toying with the buttons. I pick up a mini figurine of the Batmobile and examine it like it’s an extremely rare and delicate dinosaur fossil.

  ‘No, no I did not. Do we have to have this conversation? I didn’t become an illustrator, OK, D? Can you drop it? I already get the “what happened to creating comic books?” spiel from my dad at least once a month. I don’t need it from you,’ I tell him firmly, carefully placing the Batmobile back and looking at the movie posters that line the walls. Captain America: The First Avenger came out when I was sixteen. I’d seen all the Marvel movies before that one with Devon and then Devon left. I stare in amazement at the collection on the walls, the movies that followed look incredible, but I’ve never seen them.

  ‘OK but…’ Devon starts.

  ‘But nothing, D. I’m happy. I work with Hope. You’ve met her, and you all seem well acquainted now. You know how cool she is. Oh God, you haven’t told Hope about my wanting to be an illustrator, have you?’ I ask, turning to him, my eyes wide with fear as I wait for his answer.

  He holds up his hands and bows his head. ‘No, Scar, I wouldn’t do that. I could tell how nervous you were when I brought it up at the pub. What I don’t get is why you’re hiding it.’ There’s a sadness in his eyes that I really don’t want to deal with right now.

  ‘Well, what I don’t get is how you act all smooth in front of the cameras and how you can possibly be so friendly with Ruby, but you don’t hear me asking questions and being all judgey and bringing that up,’ I say, casually waving my hands and turning away to caress Jess’s Iron Man helmet.

  ‘That’s because you don’t like talking about your feelings,’ Devon says, but his tone is playful, like he’s pleased that he knows me so well.

  I pry my eyes away from the gold and red metal to look at him. My hands go to my hips. ‘I think I showed that I’m more than capable of sharing my feelings the other night. Forgive me for not wanting to argue with you tonight. And forgive me for not being the next Stan Lee. I might not be off saving the world like you but I’m the best personal assistant Hope has ever had. She needs me and my dad needs me and though I still don’t quite live up to my mum’s expectations, life is good here. I’m doing all right.’ That’s the most I’ve shared my feelings in years, purely for the sake of shushing Devon and not because he’s easy to talk to.

  Devon looks at me with furrowed brows. His eyelashes flutter wide open and I know he wants to ask more questions about my mum, talk about my needs and delve deeper into my emot
ions but that’s all he’s going to get for tonight, so I hastily change the subject.

  ‘Any new best friends in New York I should be worried about? Huh?’ I half-smirk. That sounded funnier and more chilled in my head, but even I can’t miss the wobble in my voice when I say it out loud. I distract myself by getting comfy on the couch. Devon paces a few steps before he brushes his hands over his thighs and sits down next to me.

  ‘Oh yeah, like Hope and Jess?’ He quirks an eyebrow, his big grin even more prominent with a full set of adult pearly whites.

  ‘Oh please, they were just filling in…’ I hear Hope’s footsteps and Jess’s not far behind.

  ‘I heard that,’ Hope says carrying a tray of pita, olives, and hummus into the room. My stomach grumbles its appreciation.

  ‘Is school the same as it is here?’ she asks taking a seat on the chair opposite the couch.

  ‘No, it’s a lot more over the top and dramatic, but I guess passionate too. The cliques you see in the American movies are no joke – it’s all heightened when no one is wearing a uniform. It was hard finding my place in the high school coming in halfway through the year, but once I got settled with the drama club, it wasn’t too bad.’ Devon sits on the edge of the couch when he speaks and gives his undivided attention to Hope when answering her question.

  For the first time in ten years I picture him stood lonely in the school hallways, with no one to hang out with, away from home, instead of my usual imagery of him swanning off to New York, becoming fast friends with every kid on the playground and happily forgetting all about me. My stomach knots guiltily.

  ‘Any American girls capture your British heart?’ Hope asks boldly. Devon blushes a deep shade of red.

  ‘Dude, you probably have girls throwing themselves at you,’ Jess comments, tucking into the olives.