Page 12 of Not Strictly Ballroom

I place it on the table for her in the kitchen, and fetch her a drink and some cutlery. I’m still not hungry so I go into the front room and sink onto her couch, pulling out my phone. Still no messages.

Eventually, I hear the kettle boiling, and Gran makes her way through from the kitchen.

“Would you make the tea, dear?” she says before she sits in her favourite armchair.

“Of course.” It’ll give me something to do, anyway.

“And bring the biscuit tin. I baked some cookies this morning,” she calls after me. Another layer of irritation with myself adds to my dark mood. I love baking cookies with Gran and I could have helped her this morning. Her chocolate chip oat cookies are my favourite.

I fill the teapot, set out the china cups, add the biscuit tin to the tray, and take it through. I put it down on the table and pour her a cup. I pour a cup for myself, grab a cookie, and then slump back onto the couch. Gran takes a sip of her tea and then sets the cup down.

“What is it?” She turns her keen eyes on me.

“I’m fine,” I mumble, refusing to look at her.

“Nicholas, don’t you lie to me. Something’s hurting you, and keeping it bottled up won’t help.” The stern note in her voice makes me wince.

“Talking about it won’t make it any better.” I pick at a thread on my jeans and still won’t make eye contact with her.

“You never know unless you try.” Her tone is softer this time, and I know she’s probably right, even though I don’t want to talk about it and I can’t see a way out of it.

“I think I’ve messed things up with Darcy.” I open with. She’s met Darcy several times. When she was more mobile, she’d sometimes come to watch my dance lessons.

“Why do you think that?” she probes.

“Because I can’t help myself wanting to be more than just friends. It’s become awkward, and I ran out on him yesterday. I can’t just act normal around him. It’s wrong to want your best friend, but I can’t help it, and I hate it.” I drop my head into my hands, not wanting her to see the tears that have been close to the surface all day.

“Does Darcy know any of this? How does he feel?” she asks.

“I can’t talk to him about it,” I whine. She doesn’t understand.

“Why not?” The way she asks makes it sound so simple.

“Because then it will make it even more awkward.” I sigh. “I just need to get over it so we can go back to being like we were.”

“If you told him . . . What are you most afraid of?” Gran continues.

I take a deep breath. “That I’d lose him. He’s not like me, Gran. He’s not into guys, which makes this so messed up. We couldn’t be friends like that, him wondering about me all the time. I can’t tell him. I’ll get over it and everything can go back to being normal again.”

“Then you’ll always live in fear,” she says.

“What do you mean?” My plan is good. It’s the only way.

“You’ll always be wondering whether he knows, or if he’ll find out. You’ll always be afraid to get too close to him. My Reggie always used to quote an old proverb his grandfather taught him—that a life lived in fear is a life half-lived—you cannot carry on like that, Nicholas.”

I don’t believe her. I’m not risking it all by telling him. I scowl, ready to dismiss her, when my phone buzzes on the table.

Gran looks at it and then at me, giving me a soft smile.

I snatch it up, cradling it in my hands, almost too nervous to check it now that it has a message.

Darcy: Hey

I breathe a sigh of relief.

Nick: Hey

Darcy: I’m sorry

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