Page 87 of The Key to My Heart

‘That’s dark,’ adds Nick, sprawled on the sofa. ‘Like, proper dark.’

‘I think it’s beautiful,’ says Jodie softly, ‘in a way.’

‘I don’t know what it is,’ I shrug, cradling a cup of tea to my lap. I’d sobbed into Jodie’s shoulder when I arrived, and Carl had quickly made tea, arranged biscuits on a plate, while Nick rolled his eyes and said, ‘Since when do we eat biscuits off a plate? This ain’t a vicarage, Dad.’ Then I’d got under Jodie’s thick, grey blanket with her, and I’d told her everything. About Roxanne and the argument outside the restaurant. About Don, and how I still haven’t told Tom. And Joe. They’d listened, my family, these soft, calm, loving faces who accept me for everything I am, and I’d felt held. Supported. Able to fall apart, knowing none of the pieces would be judged or scrutinised, as I crumbled before them. ‘I don’t know what to do,’ I say. ‘Honestly, I don’t know where to start.’

‘Well, you should always start with you,’ says Carl, reaching to the table for a custard cream. ‘And you haven’t done that for a long time, Nat.’

‘A very long time,’ adds Jodie, putting her dressing-gowned arm around me. She smells like vanilla body wash and shampoo. ‘And you know that’s what Russ would want for you. He’d want you to be happy. Nothing else, other than that.’

‘You’re right.’ I blow my nose into a tissue. It’s streaked with make-up. I must look a mess – a total mess. A walking crime scene.

‘If you were a patient,’ says Carl calmly, munching his custard cream, ‘my question would be, what is it you want?’

I stare at them blankly, six pairs of kind eyes, waiting on me to speak, the TV turned so low, it’s an inaudible mumble.

‘It’s like I said, I don’t know where to start—’

Carl puts his hands together in a single clap. ‘First thing that comes into your head—’

‘Tom,’ falls out of my mouth.

Jodie smiles, her hands shooting up to her mouth, like a proud mother of the bride catching a glimpse of the wedding gown for the first time.

‘Fuck yeah, Auntie Nat,’ says Nick. ‘What?You do realise I’m eighteen now, don’t you?’

‘And I think I want to move,’ I add. ‘Back to London.Oh my God.Do I? God, I do.’

‘Fuck yeah, Auntie Nat,’ says Jodie this time, and we all laugh.

Chapter Twenty-Six

WillWebster has added you to: It’s a boy!

WillWebster: Delighted to announce the birth of our beautiful boy, Noah Alex Webster. 8lb 2oz. Priya is a superstar and both mum and baby are doing well. Dad’s a bit of a mess tho!

‘Okay, and you’ll be fine on your own?’

‘Jodie, I’ve been on my own in the shop loads before.’

‘I know, but—’

‘But I’m weird at the minute,’ I don’t say. ‘Because I, your younger sister, am positively off my head and keep crying all of the time.’ But they’re good tears, that’s what I keep telling her. They feel like a thousand unsaid, locked-away emotions, slowly but surely trickling out of me. A slow release.‘So, like, you’ve been constipated for years,’Nick had said, ‘and finally, you’re able to – go?’

‘You can leave now.’ I smile at my sister. ‘I’ll be fine. I’m quite looking forward to it. I can be in charge of the playlist, I can eat loads of sweets and you won’t start harping on about substantial meals and stuff.’

Jodie cocks her head to one side and smiles, then she leans across the counter and kisses my cheek. She’s warm and perfumey. ‘Call me,’ she says, ‘if you need me and if it gets too busy.’

‘I will. But it won’t, and I’ll befine.And I’m still okay to close at five? I’m seeing Tom and then Priya and the baby.’

‘Course.’

I’m dying to see Priya and baby Noah, who looks exactly like Will minus the glasses, squished down into a little white Babygro. A bit of normality – a bit of grounding, during what’s been a really weird couple of days, since Lucy’s birthday meal. I stayed over at Jodie’s that night, and as the sun began to rise the next morning, I felt like a part of myself had been unlocked. And the tears haven’t stopped since. It’s like I suddenly want to tear the roof off every shelter I’ve built myself; the plaster from every wound. Let the air get to them, let them heal. Leteverythingheal. Joe and the music, the thought that he and Tanner were listening to me, all along. About the music left after that – from Coldplay onwards. And I still don’t know if Joe’s right. If it was Edie leaving it. But sometimes she seems the only person who makes sense. And, of course, I’ve cried about Tom. I’m meeting him later, to tell him about Don, face to face, after we close. And if it feels right, I want to tell him how I feel. I’ll be shitting it of course, completely and utterly, but I’m so sure I want to do it. To tell him I like him. That he’s right – that when you feel it, you know. Because I do know. I know it’s him. Oh, God, I’mgoing to cry again. My face is going to be a big swollen blob by the time I see him if I carry this on. Should declarations of ‘like’ be done with a balloon for a face?

The bell above the shop door, rings. And there he stands. And he’s early. Really bloody early actually. Shit, I haven’t even practised what I’m going to say yet, especially the bit about how there’s no pressure on him, to say he feels the same, because – well, I have no idea what he’ll even say. We’re friends. Tom is … Tom is Just Tom. Scared of love and crocodiles. Planning a date with Gigi last time I checked. But saying it, feeling it,knowing it,is almost enough, without him saying a word back to me …

Because I’m not broken, like a part on the side of the road. I can like – and maybe even love again.

‘Erm, well, you are about three hours early, Thomas,’ I say. He’s in the doorway. He’s unsmiling, and he looks –grave.Pale.

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