Her eyes narrow. ‘Don’t patronise me, Jake, and don’t be an arse.’ Her tone is mild, but the comment stings. ‘Oh no, I’d better be careful in case you think I’m being a feminist again.’ She raises both eyebrows, more confident than before. ‘And how was I supposed to know the bumpers were caught on each other? I don’t have Supergirl’s x-ray vision.’
‘That’s a shame, because if you did, it might improve your driving skills. I clearly had the right of way because contrary to what you think, I was reversing first. I checked my mirror twice.’ But even as he says it, he knows he was distracted by the visit to his friend Owen, by all the things that’ve changed but not changed while he’s been away.
Inhaling deeply through her nose, which is sporting a tiny diamond stud these days, she draws herself up to her full height – which is still a good few inches below his chin – before steadily releasing the air from her mouth. If he had to guess, he’d say she was praying for patience. ‘Well, the insurance companies can argue it out.’ She nods. ‘The main thing is no one got hurt.’
‘Until I get home,’ Jake mutters.
‘Huh?’
‘Nothing. Don’t worry about it.’ It’s not her fault his dad’s how he is. Still, at least now he’s the same size as his father.
He studies Leila. She’s short and slender, although the grey fake fur jacket with black jeans and ankle boots bulks her out. There are three earrings in her left lobe. A star, a moon, and a garnet. ‘Nice outfit,’ he says.
‘Right.’ She blinks. ‘Are you trying to be funny?’
‘Excuse me?’
‘About my outfit,’ she replies coolly. ‘Last summer you were pretty clear that my body should be covered up.’
He barks out a laugh. ‘You misunderstood me. I thought the wet T-shirt suited you.’ She’d been gorgeous that night, all big dark eyes and pale, moonlit skin.
‘Oh.’ She steps back, a frown pulling her eyebrows together. ‘Oh,’ she says in an odd tone, blushing.
Now her pale hair rests on her shoulders, the tips dyed lilac. It’s just like her to do something different, something outside the mainstream, but with her blonde eyebrows, light complexion, and petal-patterned grey irises, the overall effect is curiously bland. She needs a brighter colour. He always thinks of her as so vivid. Plus, he can’t believe she cut her hair. It was so amazing.
‘Jake?’ She’s watching him, cheeks reddening further as he stares at her. When she brushes her hair back from her face with a small graceful hand, tucking it behind one ear, the scent of strawberries fills the air. He also notices charcoal smudges on her index finger and thumb, and is glad she still draws.
Feeling self-conscious, he rubs a finger over his scar and forces a twisted smile. ‘Sorry. I was just thinking. You’ve cut all your hair off.’
‘Not all of it. But yeah, I needed a change.’ She gazes at his face, ‘Your scar’s a bit more pronounced than it used to be, because you’re so tanned.’
‘And?’ he queries, self-conscious and wishing she hadn’t brought attention to it.
She frowns. ‘Nothing. It’s very Pirates of the Caribbean. It’s quirky, and you know I don’t have a problem with quirky.’ Holding her arms out to point at her outfit.
In the distance, a high-pitched bell lets out three sharp shrills. ‘Oh, shit. I need to get to class.’ She throws a panicky look at the redbrick buildings behind them. ‘We should sort the cars out. Do you want me to try and drive forward again or—?’
‘No. Let’s take a proper look first.’ Striding to the back of her car, he leans over to inspect where it’s attached to the rear end of his.
As Jake is running his hands along the hooked bumpers, a member of school staff appears, shooing away all the gossiping students scattered across the car park. ‘Haven’t you all got lessons to get to? Come on, clear off, the bell’s gone,’ he barks. ‘Are you both all right?’ he asks, marching over to them. ‘Do I need to call an ambulance or inform the police?’
Jake shakes his head. ‘It’s under control. Give me five minutes and it’ll be sorted.’ Glancing up, he straightens to full height. ‘Bloody hell. Mr Strickland.’ He pauses, then adds, ‘I thought you’d be retired by now.’
Leila snorts, before turning it into a cough.
‘How do you—’ The teacher’s eyes squint as he concentrates. ‘Jake Harding. I remember you.’
‘Yes, Sir.’ Jake grins. He can’t help it. The man looks horrified.
‘What are you doing here?’
‘Oh, I was thinking of coming back to do my A-levels. I know it’s a bit delayed, but still, it’s always worth a shot. I thought I’d try English. You’d enjoy that, right?’
‘I … ah …’ Mr Strickland’s face whitens.
‘Stop torturing him, Jake,’ Leila admonishes, ‘we both know that’s rubbish. You couldn’t wait to get out of here.’ She gives him a sideways look.
Jake shoves his hands into the pockets of his jeans. ‘She’s right. I was just here to see a friend for lunch. Owen Plaitford? We’d just said goodbye and I was leaving when Leila and I bumped cars. I’m not applying to come back, don’t worry.’
Mr Strickland relaxes, his chest puffing out as the anxiety slips away. ‘So, what are you doing these days? I can’t imagine you’ve made anything of yourself, after the way you behaved at school.’
Jake’s grin falls away at the derisive tone, and he stares at the older man. ‘You haven’t changed much, have you?’ He stands straighter. ‘But actually, I have. I got the basic qualifications I needed, left school, and joined the Marines. I was in officer training last year, all five phases, and went on my first mission a couple of months ago. So, whatever you might think of me or who I was back then, these days I’m proud to serve my Queen and country, and help keep others safe.’
Leila’s eyebrows rise, but she says nothing.
‘Oh.’ Mr Strickland’s mouth opens and closes like a vacant goldfish before he pulls himself together. ‘In that case, if I’m right to believe you, then well done.’
Jake’s face goes blank, but he manages a nod and then his chin tilts up, just by an extra millimetre. ‘Thank you,’ he replies in a low voice. He steps away. ‘Anyway, we’d better separate these cars and exchange details. We won’t be long; I’ll be gone soon.’
‘All right,’ the teacher agrees, ‘as you were then. Try not to be too late for English,’ he shoots at Leila, before hurrying from the car park.
‘Well, that was weird,’ she remarks, watching the man’s departing back. ‘It’s not like him to be nice.’ Jake’s already crouched down by the bumpers as she turns around. ‘Don’t you think, Jake? It was nice of him to say that to you, right?’
‘Whatever,’ he mutters. Bending back a piece of metal with a grunt, he stands and moves around to the driver’s side of his car, wiping his dirty hands on his jeans.
‘Whatever?’ She looks perplexed. ‘He said well done; he acted like he was proud of you. What’s not to like about that?’
‘It’s not him who should be proud of me. Look, just forget it.’
‘Oh. Right, I see. It’s about your dad.’ A beat of silence. ‘Look, Jake, what I said about you being like your dad at the beach party. I shouldn’t have. I never got the chance to say sorry properly. And I am sorry.’
‘Don’t worry about it,’ he says, looking over her shoulder, but his voice is terse, betraying him.