Page 31 of Save Us
Meanwhile, Ember keeps coming up with a new alternative every day in case Plan A (Oxford. Whatever it takes.) doesn’t work out. Her favorites so far are Plans B (Apply to Alice Campbell for work experience so that, one day, I can get a job with her cultural foundation) and C (Chuck it all in and set up a fashion empire with her), although she is way keener on Plan C than I can be at the moment.
I lean back and stretch my arms out over my head. The gray upholstered library chairs are anything but comfortable. Or stable. In the last three days, I’ve figured out that there are precisely two that don’t wobble, and one of them has a screw that drops out at regular intervals. I’ve already had two almost–heart attacks because I’ve been deep in my books and the seat has suddenly lurched, making me think I’m going to crash to the floor.
So far, it’s been OK. But I’m pretty certain that William, an old man who also comes into the library every day, has reached the same conclusions about the chairs. Because every time he’s there before me, he’s already snagged the non-wobbly, non-lurchy chair for himself, and there’s a wicked glint in his eyes as I resignedly pull one of the other seats over to my table.
Even so, I like him.
When I arrive at the library on Friday morning, I discover that they’re closed for stocktaking and won’t be open until after lunch. That rattles me at first, but in the end, I take my books to a little café and spend the time there instead. I head back to the library at one on the dot and find William already waiting at the door. He smiles at me for the first time, and this evening, as I pack up my stuff and peel myself out of the little seating area, I wave and smile back. I set off home feeling happy at this tiny success.
I unlock the front door and call out, “It’s me!”
“In the kitchen,” Dad replies at once.
I slip off my shoes and hang my thin jacket on a coat hook.
“William smiled at me for the first time today,” I say as I walk down the hallway. “I think he—”
I stop and blink.
My dad isn’t alone in the kitchen.
Standing beside him at the work surface is James.
The sleeves of his white shirt are rolled up to the elbows. He has a potato in one hand and a peeler in the other. Dad is sitting beside him, in the middle of finely slicing one of the spuds.
For a moment, I’m not sure if this is real or some kind of deeply weird dream.
“What…what are you two up to?” I blurt.
“Dauphinoise,” says Dad, not looking up from the chopping board.
I take a closer look at James and instantly clock that something’s not right.
I can see it in his eyes, his body language, and the general dark aura surrounding him.
“Are you OK?” I ask. I try to keep my voice calm, but I can’t stop my shoulders from stiffening or my fingers from gripping on to my backpack straps.
James clears his throat. He looks down at his hands, as if he’s forgotten what he’s doing here for a moment. Then he looks up again. His lips twitch upward slightly. It’s not a real smile, just a rubbish fake one, which makes my stomach lurch.
“I came to see you, but you weren’t here,” he says, nodding to Dad. “So Angus roped me in as a kitchen porter.”
I frown and look from one of them to the other. “I’m not as bad at it as I feared either,” says James, and Dad nods.
“Definitely not. We’re getting more potato than peel now.”
Normally, a comment like that would make me grin, but I get the feeling there’s nothing funny about this situation. James is standing there with his sleeves rolled up and hair like he’s buried his fingers in it more than once. I’ve never seen him this disheveled. Normally, his presence fills even the biggest of halls, but now he seems uncertain and hesitant. Like he doesn’t even know where he is, let alone what to do next.
“Why don’t you two go upstairs and chat until dinner is ready?” Dad suggests out of the blue. “You’ve been a great help, James, but I can manage on my own from here.”
James hesitates a moment, but then he nods and hands Dad the peeler. He puts the potato down on the board and goes over to the sink to wash his hands.
I give Dad a grateful smile. He returns it, but I can see that his eyes are worried. Although I can’t tell whether he’s concerned for James or for me.
I wait for James, then we go up to my room. I put down my bag and turn to him as he stands indecisively in the middle of the floor.
I take two cautious steps toward him. I look up at him. He looks back at me, and again, it’s like he’s trying to smile for me.
“You don’t have to smile if you’re not in the mood,” I whisper. I’m afraid that he’ll vanish at the slightest sound. Probably because I’ve never seen him like this before. I don’t know what to do. The only thing I can think of is to give him time.
