Page 39 of Sad Girl Hours
“Nell?”
She takes a second before twisting round to face me. “Hi,” she says as I perch on the wall next to her.
“Are you OK?” I ask, leaning into her side.
She leans back, I think unconsciously, staring straight ahead. “Mmm. I think so. You?”
“I asked you first.” I smile, though she’s not looking.
“And I answered.”
“Very vaguely,” I say, making sure to keep my voice soft in jest.
“Maybe I’m not in a particularly committal mood.”
“Then what kind of moodareyou in?”
She turns to face me now, eyes dancing with amusement and the warm glow of the fairy lights that are strung round our window indoors. “I know what kind of moodyou’rein, Miss Inquisitive.”
“It’s lovely to meet you too, Miss Evasive.”
She laughs but her eyes are still heavy with the weight of something unsaid. I think she sees my concern because the laughter fades away into a sigh. “I just…” she starts. “I just wish I knew why I feel certain things. Or, rather, why Idon’tfeel certain things.”
This does little to clarify anything for me. But instead of elaborating, she says, “Why are you out here anyway? It’s your birthday – you should be celebrating.”
“It’syourbirthday too. And I was, kind of. But I saw you leave and you looked sad, so I followed you.”
“Funny,” Nell says. “That’s exactly what happened at New Year’s Eve.”
I cast my mind back to standing outside in the quad in the freezing cold. “Wait.” I frown. “I thought you just came out for some fresh air that night. I didn’t know you’d come after me.”
“Well, I had,” Nell says simply. “I wanted to make sure you were OK.”
“We’d only just met.”
“Yes, and? You made a good impression. And besides, no one should be alone at New Year’s Eve. Even a pretend one.”
“Or on their birthday,” I add, trying not to think about all my past birthdays.
“I’m not alone,” Nell says. “You’re here.”
“Yes,” I answer. “I am.”
I don’t generally feel that close to people. I mean, I do but there’s always the thought in the back of my mind, the alarm bells ringing that it won’t last, that they don’t really care about me, or that they wouldn’t if they really, truly knew me.
I don’t feel any of that right now. I can’t hear any alarms. Just the muffled music and laughter from inside. And all I can feel is Nell’s left arm against my right.
The words come out before I’m aware I’ve thought them. “My parents sent me a card.”
“Oh,” Nell says. “That’s nice?”
“No,” I say, chest pounding like it’s in the final beats of a countdown.
“No?”
Without more words, I go to the door, feeling Nell’s confusion follow me, slip inside quietly and fetch the card, before coming back out and handing it silently to Nell.
She pulls it out of the envelope. “Saffron, Happy Birthday. Mum and Dad.Hmm. Chatty, aren’t they? What did they say when you spoke to them?”
