Page 84 of Do You Ship It

Anissa laughs; she got a real kick out of that story. ‘Don’t tempt me. But you’re both moping around, missing each other, and …’ She lets out a big sigh. ‘I really don’t want to get involved, Cerys, it’s not my place. Jake will come around. He’ll talk to you properly soon, I’m sure of it. Just … give him a bit of time, okay? Maybe after Christmas?’

‘But it’s already beenages. Nearly two months.’

‘I know. I know, but …’ She looks so sad, so conflicted, I wonder what reallyisgoing on with Jake. Is he more heartbroken than I realize?

More heartbroken than … I have been?

When I try to ask Anissa about that, though, she refuses to get into it. ‘This is for the two ofyouto sort out. Now come on – I thought I came over so we could read the new update on that Moonsilver fic. It’ssix thousandwords about the ballroom scene, Cerys, and I don’t think they even kiss yet …’

Maybe I haven’t known Anissa that long, but the shared love of OWAR has helped us forge a strong bond – and I trust her. Enough, at least, to promise to myself that I’ll carry on giving Jake space until at least the New Year.

My own Christmas is as strange as it is chaotic. Mum and Dad are back to being frosty with each other and every conversation they have is in clipped tones. We have my Aunty Jude’s party on the 23rd with my dad’s side of the family; we spend Christmas morning with Dad’s parents, and the afternoon with my maternal grandma, including a bunch of my younger cousins with their noisy new games and food we’re too full from lunch to really eat. Then it’s a drive up to Bangor on Boxing Day to see my granddad and step-nan, withonly one bust-up over the route Mum takes. I put on the third OWAR audiobook and pretend to sleep for most of the journey.

See?I want to tell them.I knew this would happen. The whole ‘happy families’ act was never going to last.

At least for New Year’s Eve, Chloe’s invited us all over. It’ll be a welcome escape from all the family time I’ve been subjected to.

Like tonight, with rain lashing against the windows, and all three of us sat around the kitchen table, the mood eerily calm.Pleasant,almost. Mum and Dad are holding an actual conversation, and there are a few smiles and laughs between them that make me wary.

After they’ve hashed over all the usual chatter – my New Year’s plans with the girls, how work and college have been, if I’ve had any more thoughts about uni yet ahead of next year’s applications – Mum broaches the one subject I was hoping they’d been too preoccupied to notice.

‘You haven’t mentioned Jake very much lately. What’s going on there?’

I freeze. ‘Um …’

‘Have you two had a falling out?’ Dad asks – and,brilliant, now they’re both doing the kind, concerned parent act, teaming up again like they did when Anissa came over.

‘Not really. Just … um … You know.’ I shrug. ‘We’ve both been busy.’

It’s a pathetic excuse, and I’m sure they both hear the lie in my voice based on the glance they exchange.

‘It’s such a shame,’ Mum sighs. ‘He was always such a lovely boy, and a good friend.’

‘He’s notdead, Mum.’

They both laugh. She waves her fork at me. ‘I know that, silly. I only meant it’s a shame you two haven’t managed to stay close.’

‘We –’

We would’ve, if not for Max. If not for the kiss.

If not for The Plan, and my determination to see it through ruining everything.

‘We’re fine,’ I end up saying. ‘Just, you know. Christmas. College. Stuff.’

Mercifully, they let it drop, and I’m left to scroll on my phone at the table while the two of them work in tandem to load the dishwasher and pack away leftovers. Dad says something that makes Mum laugh – a tinkly, mirthful sound – and she swats him lightly with the tea towel.

It’s so disgustingly cosy and domestic, the words finally come spilling out of me.

‘You’re not getting back together, are you?’

‘What?’ says Dad, and they both turn, confused,processing what I just said. I clamp my mouth shut, horrified that I even said it at all, hoping maybe I can pass it off as them mishearing or me saying it at something on my phone, but then they exchange a look and Mum sighs, coming back over to the dining table. Dad clips a lid on to the tub of leftovers and joins us.

They both drag out chairs, the noise like nails on chalkboard, and my heart is in my throat.

Fab work, Cerys, they’re sitting down for A Talk. Last time they did this, it was because you got a week’s worth of detentions for bunking off PE with Jake and the others in Year 10. What fresh hell have you unleashed now?

Mum sighs again, folding her hands on the table, but not before I see them shaking. Dad reaches over and places one of his hands over hers, giving them a reassuring squeeze.

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