Casting Shadows Read online

  I didn’t want to go. I’d planned to see Flynn this weekend – we were going to go to the park with Grace and James tomorrow afternoon, then to see a movie in the evening.

  ‘But I don’t have any stuff with me,’ I said.

  Dad shook his head. ‘We can stop off at your mum’s. Pick up what you need.’ He paused. ‘I want to talk to her anyway.’

  My heart thudded. ‘Dad, please don’t tell her about Flynn.’ I gripped his arm. ‘Please. She’ll be so mad.’

  ‘River.’ Dad rolled his eyes. ‘I don’t think you appreciate how . . . how let down I feel. You promised us you wouldn’t have anything to do with that boy. That was the condition of letting you stay with your mother during term time, remember?’

  I nodded.

  ‘And now, to find out you’re still involved with him all these months later. It’s . . . I don’t know what to say, what to think.’

  ‘We did break up,’ I said, anxiety clutching at my throat. ‘And I told Flynn I wouldn’t go back out with him unless he did something about his temper and he has. Like I told you, he’s been seeing a counsellor. And he’s got a job – three jobs, actually. And he worked really hard for his exams.’

  Dad stared at me. I couldn’t tell what he was thinking. I wanted to tell him how much I loved Flynn, how being apart from him before had nearly killed me. But I couldn’t say it. I looked away, my face burning.

  Behind me, I could hear Dad unlocking the car door. I scurried round to the other side and slid into the passenger seat.

  We drove off in silence.

  3

  A few hours later I was sitting alone, on the bed in the little storeroom off Dad’s living room in his and Gemma’s commune apartment. It was where I usually slept when I stayed with them – unless my brother, Stone, came too. Then one of us had to sleep on the couch in the living room. I checked my phone again. The signal was always weak here but at least there was a signal. After we’d left Mum’s and begun the long drive up to the commune, I’d texted Flynn and told him what had happened and he’d messaged back to say he’d call me at ten thirty.

  I felt so lonely, so miserable without him.

  I sighed and lay back on the bed. Dad had, of course, told Mum about Flynn. And Mum had, predictably, gone ballistic.

  Ten more minutes passed. Flynn would be calling soon. I decided to go down to the kitchen, maybe get a drink. I had shut myself away as soon as we arrived, so I hadn’t seen anyone who lived here yet. I was hoping to avoid the other residents. I took off my shoes and trotted down the stone steps, my socks silent but slippery against their smoothness. As I padded along the corridor to the kitchen, I heard Dad’s voice.

  ‘I couldn’t believe the way she was . . . the way she . . . God, she was really kissing him.’ He let out a big sigh.

  ‘She’s sixteen, love.’ That was Gemma. ‘Seventeen in a few months. She’s not a baby.’

  ‘I know,’ Dad groaned. ‘It’s just it’s hard, thinking about . . . you know . . .’

  I shrank back against the stone wall of the corridor, my heart racing.

  ‘Isn’t the important thing how River feels? And also how it happens?’ Gemma said gently. ‘From what you said it sounds as if he was very respectful to you.’

  Dad said something in a low voice that I couldn’t catch.

  ‘Okay,’ Gemma said, ‘but there were reasons why he attacked his dad. And lots of teenage boys get a bit out of control. He’s never hurt River. And everyone deserves a second chance, don’t they?’

  Yes. I nodded, out in the corridor. My heart surged with affection for Gemma.

  And then my phone rang. The sound filled the corridor. Chairs scraped back across the stone floor in the kitchen as I fled back towards the stairs. I answered the call as I panted up them, two at a time.

  ‘River?’ Flynn sounded concerned. ‘You okay?’

  ‘Yeah.’ I tore into the little bedroom and collapsed onto the bed.

  We talked for a few minutes. I kept my eyes on the door, but Dad and Gemma hadn’t followed me. I could tell Flynn was upset that Dad was being so heavy about us seeing each other. He was trying hard to keep things light, to reassure me, but the tightness in his voice was unmistakeable. And I felt the same way.

  We said we loved each other and rang off. I still felt troubled. I put my head in my hands. A rap on the door. Then Gemma poked her head round. ‘River?’ she said.

  I looked up at her, my lips trembling. She smiled and walked over to me, scooping me into a hug. Tears welled up as she held me. She smelled like my dad – her clothes slightly musty with a whiff of incense, but on her the smell was lighter, more flowery somehow.

  Gemma’s not much bigger than me, really Completely different from Mum. She’s got long black hair and, when you don’t know her, she comes across as very gentle and shy. But she’s a strong person. She and Dad lost their baby earlier in the year. I know it really upset them, especially Gemma, but she hasn’t let it make her all bitter or mean. Dad adores her. It suddenly struck me that if anyone could persuade him to accept me and Flynn being together it was her.

  ‘He’s a good person,’ I wept. ‘He’s really changed. He just needs people to believe in him.’

  Gemma stroked my hair. ‘I know, sweetheart,’ she said.

  ‘And I’m prepared to give him a chance.’ I looked up. Dad was standing in the doorway, gazing at me. ‘But there’s one condition.’

  I nodded eagerly, disentangling myself from Gemma’s arms. ‘What?’

  Dad pursed his lips. ‘I want to get to know him first. I want Flynn to come and spend the rest of the weekend here on the commune with you, me and Gemma.’

  ‘Okay.’ I frowned. ‘But it’s Friday night already . . . how is Flynn going to get here?’

  ‘We’ll pick him up from the station tomorrow. Tell him to get on a train to arrive by midday. I’ll cover his fare.’

  My heart was in my mouth as we waited at the station the next morning. Dad looked pretty tense too. As the train pulled in, I fingered the phone in my pocket. I was half expecting Flynn to call and tell me he couldn’t face the interrogation he was bound to be given. Our last kiss flashed into my head. We’d have to be so careful about what we did in front of my dad. It was obvious that for all his liberal talk about human beings needing to love each other more, he was totally freaked out by the idea of me really loving someone myself.

  The train stopped. I held my breath, waiting for Flynn to appear. He’d seemed so much calmer since he’d been seeing his counsellor, but he would be under enormous pressure coming face to face with Dad and having to spend time at the commune – a place he usually referred to disparagingly as the drop-out centre. Suppose he lost his temper with someone? Some of the people here were fairly odd and, if not drop-outs, certainly alternative in their approach to life.

  Suppose he lost his temper with Dad?

  The doors opened and Flynn stepped out onto the sunny platform. He loped along, looking around for us. I could tell he was uncertain of himself . . . there was something awkward in the hunch of his shoulders and the way his hands were stuffed into his pockets.

  ‘There he is.’ I hurried over, Dad at my side.

  Flynn turned and saw us. His eyes – bright green in the sunlight – lit up as he looked at me. I had always adored how expressive his face was but now, for the first time, I was grateful that he was making his feelings so obvious. The love that shone from his eyes was exactly what I wanted Dad to see.

  But how would he act with Dad himself?

  We reached each other. Flynn leaned over and gave me a sedate kiss on the cheek. Then he turned to Dad and held out his hand.

  ‘Hello, Mr Armstrong,’ he said smoothly, all traces of his earlier awkwardness completely evaporating as he spoke. ‘I’m sorry we didn’t get a chance to talk properly the other day. It’s a pleasure to finally spend some time with you. I know River loves you very much and, as I love her more than anything in the world, it’s important to me that
you know my intentions to her are entirely honourable.’

  Entirely honourable?

  I realised my mouth had fallen open and closed it. Flynn sounded like something out of a different century – and way older than his years. I was guessing that he had rehearsed that speech to Dad before arriving. He would certainly never talk in such a formal way normally. Still, he had made everything he’d said sound effortlessly natural and, more important, completely sincere.

  Dad looked even more shocked than me as he shook Flynn’s hand. Not surprising, really. All he’d heard about Flynn for the past five months was that he was hot-tempered to the point of violence. He couldn’t possibly have expected this level of charm, maturity and manners.

  ‘Good to see you too, Flynn,’ Dad said. ‘The car’s this way.’

  As we followed him out to the car, Flynn slipped his arm around my shoulders. I leaned into him and he lowered his face to whisper in my ear.

  ‘How am I doing?’ he said softly.

  I looked up, into his eyes. Didn’t he know how well he was coming across? He was trying so hard – and all so we could be together. I’d never loved him more. I smiled, reaching up to whisper back.

  Ace, I think Dad likes you already.’

  After the fifteen-minute drive to the commune, I was sure Dad liked him. Flynn had continued with his charm offensive. He answered all Dad’s questions about his jobs and his A levels politely and with a meek respectfulness I’d only ever seen him display at the gym where he worked, Goldbar’s.

  As soon as Dad sat back, clearly relaxing in the face of Flynn’s good manners, Flynn asked a few questions of his own. Simple, interested questions about the commune – how it worked and how many people lived there.

  A few minutes later we arrived. I took Flynn’s hand as we went into the kitchen via the back door. Flynn looked around, taking in the big stone floor and huge Aga stove. I wondered what he was thinking. The kitchen looked good – clean and warm and inviting in the morning sunshine that flooded in through the long window near the table. Still, compared to Mum’s house with its fitted cupboards and stainless steel appliances, it was all quite basic.

  ‘Hi, River!’ It was Ros, one of my favourite residents, coming in from the garden. I liked Ros a lot. She was outgoing and funny and always treated me like a grown-up. And this must be Flynn?’ Ros said, striding over with her arm outstretched.

  Flynn shook her hand.

  ‘Very attractive, River.’ Ros winked in my direction.

  I blushed. Flynn rolled his eyes but he was smiling.

  Dad cleared his throat. ‘Why don’t you show Flynn round for a bit, River?’ he said. ‘Meet back here for lunch in half an hour?’

  I nodded and tugged Flynn through the kitchen door. We wandered along the corridor. Flynn was moving slowly, gazing at the bare plaster on the walls. I showed him the two communal rooms – one with three large sofas and a huge fireplace in the centre. The other was smaller, full of books and magazines and two long desks.

  ‘That’s where Stone and I do our homework when we stay here,’ I said nervously.

  Flynn’s eyes were sharp, soaking it all up. I swallowed. Looking at it fresh like this I was horribly aware of how tatty the whole place was. It really could do with a lick of paint – and some of the upholstery on the sofas was fraying badly. I knew Flynn would never look down on people for not having much money, but I was worried he might see the shabbiness of the commune as proof that the residents lacked drive and ambition, just like he’d always suspected.

  I pointed along the corridor to the doors that led to two of the private apartments. ‘John and Julia live on the left,’ I explained. ‘And Ros is opposite.’ I glanced at him, feeling nervous. ‘What did you make of her?’

  Flynn shrugged. ‘Seemed okay,’ he said.

  I nodded. ‘Ros is cool, actually. She used to be an actor.’

  ‘Yeah?’ Flynn turned his attention to the abstract paintings that hung along the wall. I watched him taking them in. He was a brilliant actor himself, of course. That was how we’d met, last autumn, acting in Romeo and Juliet at his school.

  I led him up the big stone stairs. At least upstairs was carpeted, even if the carpets were threadbare.

  ‘There are two flats at this end.’ I indicated them in turn: the small studio that belonged to the nerdy IT guy who kept himself to himself and the largest apartment in the commune which, as far as I knew, was still empty.

  Flynn nodded absently. ‘So where are we staying?’ he said.

  I led him along the building to Dad and Gemma’s apartment. The door opened into a fair-sized living area – cosy and messy with throws over the couches, and shelves heaving with books and rows of plants around the huge window. I pointed to the two doors on the left. ‘That’s their bedroom and the bathroom,’ I said.

  ‘What’s in there?’ Flynn indicated the door on the opposite wall.

  ‘That’s the “storeroom-cum-spare room”,’ I said.

  Flynn grinned at me and pushed open the door. It was its usual mess. The camp bed was made up with a white duvet and someone, Gemma presumably, had placed a vase of sweet pea flowers on the window ledge. Planks of wood, piles of boxes containing old magazines, papers of all kinds and scraps of fabric littered the floor at the base of the opposite wall.

  ‘Dad’s always saying he means to clear this room out,’ I said. ‘But he’s busy outside most of the time.’

  Flynn strode over to the little window above the bed. He’d sneered so often at the idea of the commune, where people came together to share their resources and work at being as self-sufficient as possible. What would he make of the reality?

  I followed him over to the window. He was looking out over the vegetable garden, which lay to the right of the kitchen and the two fields beyond. The yard with the hens and the goat was out of sight from here, as was the barn which was hidden from view by the big oak tree at the bottom of the east field. The sun shone brightly in a clear blue sky.

  ‘What do you think?’ I said, unable to stand it any longer.

  I held my breath, waiting for his reply. I wasn’t sure why but everything suddenly seemed to ride on Flynn’s answer.

  4

  ‘I think the place is beautiful,’ Flynn said at last, beaming at me across the storeroom. The smile lit up his face, already bathed in the sunshine flooding in from outside. He suddenly looked much younger than before, like a child just landed in a sweet shop. ‘Almost as beautiful as you.’

  He put his hands on my arms and stared at me for a second. I held my breath, wanting him to kiss me so badly I could hardly stand. Then he grinned again and strode away to the door.

  ‘Show me outside,’ he said.

  We went downstairs and I walked him past the hens then down through both fields. There were Jacob sheep in the second. Flynn was fascinated by their black and white wool and curling horns. He said he’d never seen a real live sheep close to before.

  We kissed in the apple orchard. I’d been there a million times – it was just about my favourite place in the commune, especially at this time of year, with the trees full of budding fruit and the sweet scent of the wild flowers in the air.

  As we strolled back, hand in hand, the gong for lunch sounded.

  ‘What’s that?’ Flynn asked.

  I gulped, my anxieties flooding back. I wasn’t sure who would be here today – people were often out at weekends – but it was hard to imagine Flynn sitting down to any kind of communal meal with strangers. I prayed that Gemma or Ros had been cooking. At least then I could be sure the food would be good.

  ‘It’s another chance to make a positive impression,’ I said lightly.

  ‘Right.’ Flynn grinned. ‘No problem.’

  To my relief, the kitchen wasn’t too full when we arrived. Dad and Gemma were already sitting down at the long table, laid with the usual mismatched bowls and spoons. Ros was next to Gemma with the nerdy IT guy opposite. They looked up as we walked in.

  D
ad beckoned for me and Flynn to sit down. I had butterflies in my stomach but Flynn was as charming as he had been earlier and my anxieties soon eased.

  After a few minutes, John and Julia hurried in from the utility room with two large loaves of home-made bread and a tureen of soup. John, who is kind of annoyingly full of himself, was explaining how they’d made the soup in great detail.

  ‘. . . so then we added a pinch of – genius touch, I don’t mind saying – tarragon . . .’

  Flynn and I sat down with the others. To my relief, the food was excellent. Everything seemed relaxed but, as we ate, I shot Flynn a quick look. He was eating fast, wolfing down his soup. I could tell from the way his knuckles were white as they gripped his spoon that, despite his easy manner, he was finding this whole meal a strain. He didn’t like joining in anything, not even with people our age at school. He’d only done the school play we’d both been in because the drama teacher had insisted. I could only imagine how hard this big sit-down lunch was for him.

  ‘So what d’you think of the place, Flynn?’ Dad asked.

  Everyone looked at Flynn. I held my breath.

  ‘I like it,’ he said. ‘It’s beautiful, especially outside – the sheep are amazing – and . . . it’s huge.’

  Silence fell around the table.

  Ros chuckled. ‘Still, size isn’t everything, ha-ha!’

  I looked down at the table, blushing. The nerdy IT guy said something under his breath to Gemma and she rolled her eyes.

  Flynn looked awkward again. I put my hand over his, trying to reassure him that everything was still okay. The silver heart from my bracelet felt cool against my skin. Flynn looked up at me, the gaze from his greeny-gold eyes all soulful.

  ‘It’s fine,’ I mouthed. ‘Everyone loves you.’

  Flynn leaned over, his lips brushing my ear, sending shivers down my spine. ‘I only care that you love me.’

  ‘Hey, guys, share the joke,’ Ros said.

  I smiled over at her. ‘Nothing,’ I said.

  Flynn smiled too, then asked more questions about the commune. He found out things I’d never known, such as why some of the sheep had six horns, and the way everyone joining had to make a down payment as investment into the group, then commit to working a certain number of hours every week.