‘Stop it, you idiot,’ barked a bulky guy who was sitting at the table next to ours. He was so big and tall I can only assume he was at least eighteen. What was he even doing in the canteen with the younger kids? The senior students usually hung out in their House’s common room.
‘Sorry,’ answered Harry, rolling his eyes, but the bulky dude stared at us as he kept mumbling something under his breath. Paul broke the silence that descended on us.
‘Oliver is always grumpy so just ignore him. Hot chocolate and blueberry muffin for you,’ he said, moving the cup and the small cake in front of me. ‘Flapjack and Coke for Harry,’ he said, distributing the rest of the food. Only then did he start his drink. ‘Enjoy,’ he said as we dug in.
‘Thank you,’ I said, taking a bite and spreading soft crumbs all over my uniform. ‘Oops,’ I said and then pushed my chair back. ‘I’ll get some napkins.’
The floor was wet and slippery so when I stood up and sidestepped out of my chair, I slid to the side and bumped right into Grumpy Oliver, who only a few minutes earlier had complained about Harry.
‘Sorry,’ I mumbled when he stood up and – towering over me – growled like a rabid animal. I wanted to step back but at that point he had already grabbed the front of my blazer and almost lifted me up from the floor. I was terrified as he spat insults in my face. Before I could think of what to do, Paul was already on his feet. He turned to Oliver and punched his jaw with a well-measured jab.
Oliver released me with a shove and focused his rage on Paul. I wanted to cry as I watched punches flying. Harry helped me up from the floor and we held each other while the cafeteria exploded around us. People were shouting. The teachers in charge were running towards us, to pull Paul and Oliver apart.
The fight ended quickly after their intervention. Oliver was sent to the infirmary and Paul had to spend an uncomfortable half hour in the headmaster’s office.
When he came home that evening I was waiting for him at the bottom of the stairs, Paul’s Bernese puppy, Coco, loyally waiting at my feet. When the door opened and Paul came in with a red cheek and a split lip, we both jumped up and ran straight into his arms. ‘Ouch!’ He winced when I crashed against his ribs, and Coco wagged her tail against his legs.
‘Sorry,’ I said, stepping back from him. He kept his eyes on me, while patting the dog’s large head. ‘Thank you, Paul.’ I looked at him as if he was a superhero from one of the comics Harry collected on the shelves of the playroom. ‘I hope you didn’t get into too much trouble.’
He shrugged his shoulders and gingerly put down his school bag. ‘I’ll be all right. Oliver had that coming for a long time. He’s a bully and I looked away one too many times already. I’m glad you gave me the excuse to break his nose.’ He took off his shoes.
‘You broke his nose?’ I asked incredulously, ogling Paul as he crouched down so that Coco could lick his face.
‘How about you? Are you all right?’ he asked, turning his eyes on me while the dog whimpered and bumped her head against his leg, trying to regain his full attention.
‘I’m fine.’ I nodded, too emotional to tell him that he had just made it onto my heroes wall of fame and that the memory of what he did for me today would stay forever in my heart.
‘Good. Let’s go get some dinner, then. I’m starving,’ he said, taking my hand, and with that simple gesture he made my heart swell.
We walked down the corridor. Coco followed us keeping her eyes on Paul – in awe of her master. I blushed knowing that I most likely had the same expression in my starry eyes.
The only consolation? My tongue wasn’t lolling out of my mouth, at least.
That was the day my heart started to race when I caught sight of Paul at school, and my mood would swing drastically depending on whether Paul was paying attention to me, or not. That was the day I fell in love with the only man I thought I’d ever love.
It’s been another all-nighter at the hospital and I can hardly keep my eyes open. Harry is just as tired.
Robert flew in from Rome yesterday, and with Albert came to take over from us and give us a chance to go home and at least get washed and changed before our next shift. It’s always hard to walk out that door but even if it takes all of my strength to prise my hand from Paul’s, I’m glad I’m home because a hot shower and a cup of tea are just what I need to feel slightly more energetic. As soon as my hair is dry, I fish a jumper and a pair of jeans from my wardrobe and go downstairs.
‘I’m making us something to eat and a cup of tea,’ shouts Harry from the kitchen when he hears my footsteps in the hall.
‘Do you need a hand with that?’ I call out to him.
‘No, I’ve got it, thanks,’ Harry says in reply so I walk into the lounge and flop down on the sofa with a sigh. I look guiltily at my phone on the coffee table in front of me. I know I should return the messages that our friends have left on the answering machine. I know I should call Georgie with an update – even if there is no real update – and I should talk to my sister, who has pestered me with a million and one texts; but right now, I don’t have the strength for it. ‘Later,’ I say to the phone as if it was actually staring back at me with judgement.
At the moment Harry is just about the only person I feel comfortable sharing my pain with. No one else needs to be involved. He knows me better than anyone else; in some ways he knows me even better than Paul. He also understands me and I trust him so completely that I’m letting him see the mess that I’m in. We are more than friends, we literally grew up together and we were always each other’s sidekick.
Paul used to say that Harry was a better brother to me than he had ever been to Paul. We would find it funny now, but when we were younger it irritated us – when people assumed we were twins, or didn’t believe us when we explained we were not a couple.
Paul was okay with my close relationship with Harry, even if – regularly – we ganged up against him. We couldn’t help that often we just wanted the same thing. Life was so much easier back then. At least most of the time.
I close my eyes and rest my head on one of the cushions, remembering the one and only time when my camaraderie with Harry almost cost me my future with Paul.
***
The summer months in France were always fantastic.
At fourteen, this was my third holiday at the FitzRoys’ villa in St-Tropez and my third holiday abroad overall. My father only ever took Becca and I to Norfolk, which was always nice but never quite as full of magical excitement like the times I spent in this beautiful eight-bedroom villa by the sea. It had a private pool with a two-bedroom pool house, parkland, and private access to a pristine beach that gently rolled into the Mediterranean Sea. There was an oversize garage and detached staff quarters to the side.
I remember how the first time Josephine invited me to join them, I spent an entire week looking around with my mouth gaping. Now, walking out from my room with a book under my arm, I’d happily sauntered around the house waving at Michelle, the cook, already in the kitchen, and Luis, the old gardener, busying himself with the pots of geraniums disseminated around the patio. Luis was the one who taught me that geraniums were one of the best defences against mosquitoes.
That was just one of the many things I learned, hanging around the FitzRoys. Their fascinating world had been intimidating in the beginning, but after the first few years trying to find my feet, I just started to feel as if all the wealth around me was nothing more than the norm. It hadn’t been hard to adapt to luxury and beauty, and even if I never took it for granted I felt less and less uncomfortable in accepting it. The one thing I hadn’t adjusted to quite so easily, however, was