Page 102 of Sad Girl Hours
“Warren,” Dad says curtly.
“Would you like to come in?” Eric says. “You’ve got a long drive ahead of you again. Would you like to stop for a drink or a rest?”
“I appreciate the offer but no. We’d just like to get back.”
“Right. Sure.”
There’s quiet. I feel the urge to break it by being absolutely useless. “Thank you,” I say, directing this to Eric and Xander,“for having me. It’s been lovely. You’ve been so kind. I’m sorry to leave so abruptly.”
My father interrupts Eric’s response. “As you said, long drive ahead of us, and I’d really like to get moving. Come on, Saffron.”
Tossing a look that I hope is apologetic enough (although I doubt it ever could be) back at Nell’s dads, I turn away.
I know Nell is still standing in the doorway as I get in the car, but I can’t look.
I can’t look at the girl I love, knowing I’ve hurt her. But, as the car rolls down the street, I know I’ve hurt her more by not saying even that goodbye, and it makes tears slide down my cheeks again, my upset bobbing at the back of my throat.
“Come on.” My dad sounds irritated. “It’s not as bad as that. So long as you put your head down this week, you’ll see her soon.”
A week doesn’t seem like enough time to fix everything I’ve messed up and figure out how to convince uni that I can be in the right headspace to learn. But then, when I think about seven days and seven nights without Nell, it also feels like an eternity.
“Happy New Year,” I whisper.
“Yes, well,” my mum says, speaking for the first time, “not exactly my idea of the perfect New Year’s Day, being in the car for nearly ten hours.”
“You could have come tomorrow. You didn’t have tocome.”
I don’t normally answer back like this but I’ve just lost out on seven more perfect days, and I didn’t ask them to do this. If I thought it would have made a difference, I’d have asked them not to.
“We thought we’d better give you the best chance possible to focus on your work, get you away from any distractions. We’re doing this for you and the sooner we did it the better. So yes, we did have to come today.”
That wasn’t what I meant. And God forbid I be distracted from being depressed, or from the weight of the knowledge that I will never have a family like other people’s.
I realise that, still crumpled in my left hand, is the poem Nell wrote me.
I reread it countless times on the drive home until I know it off by heart. The phrase feels apt because that’s exactly where it feels like the words have settled – in the cracks of the splintering going on inside me.
We get back home at about seven o’clock. Kenneth, the sweet boy that he is, wags his tail so hard at me that his whole back half is wiggling from side to side.
“Hey, good boy,” I say quietly. “How’ve you been?”
“Kenneth. Down,” my dad calls sternly, walking past us to get to the kitchen. Mum goes straight to her studio at the back of the house, and I’m left here on my own in the hallway, my suitcase by my feet.
“C’mon, boy,” I say to Kenneth, and he follows me upstairs, still wagging his tail.
I sink down on my bed, Kenneth immediately tucking his entire giant body into the crook of mine and trying to wiggle himself even closer. I hold him like this and let him lick the tears off my chin.
I know now. This week isn’t going to help me focus – it was never intended to. It’s a punishment for not being the person I’m meant to be.
And I know this too:
I’m not going back to Lancaster next week.
Chapter Forty-eight
Nell
“NELL. Get down here and tell me EVERYTHING.”
