Leaving London

Chapter Four

Chapter Four

"Fearne! There's someone at the door for you!" I groggily flit open my eyes and glance at my clock. Eight am. Ugh. I roll over in bed, peeling off my duvet to a stream of cool air which chills me right down to the bone. Upon opening the blinds, the weak, early-winter sun sparkles straight into my eyes with it's brightness, sending me seething into the shadows like a vampire.

"Coming!" I yell, and pull on a faded sweatshirt as I head downstairs. I don't know quite who I expected to see at the door; Kayla or Eve perhaps, maybe even Alfie...but I certainly wasn't expecting this. I watch the golden-haired figure with no expression on my face - watch as she smiles gently and hands me a tissue-paper wrapped gift. She seems a bit awkward, shifting her weight as she stares up at me with guilt-ridden eyes. I guess I didn't make it too easy on her either though, so I know that a share of the guilt also shines in my eyes as I shift around in the doorway.

"Hi. I was wondering if I could come in?" Amy asks hopefully, twiddling a strand of hair nervously around her little finger. Her anger definitely seems to have toned down overnight.

"Um...sure...why are you here, then?" I move briefly to the side to allow her into the hallway, where she proceeds in dumping her bag and pumps in the corner. My voice comes out sharper than I expect it to, but oh well.

"Can we go up to your room? I came here because I want to sort things out." I wordlessly lead Amy up to my room, where I sit awkwardly on my mattress, and she remains standing. This is followed by two minutes of pure, deathly silence, which she spends nervously flickering her eyes backwards and forth, and glancing down at her hands. I clear my throat, indiscretely hinting at her to get a move on.

"I just want to apologise. Because I was so, so selfish and I was only thinking of my feelings; that I was hurt and annoyed that you didn't tell me, and that the others were on your side. I'm really, really sorry that I spent the last week of your time in England sulking, because I'm going to miss you a lot, even if you decide to hate me. I mean, in your position I probably wouldn't forgive me either." She blurts out, eyes trained on the carpet. I feel so lifted that we have the chance to sort things out. I would've hated leaving England in the midst of an argument.

"I'm sorry too. For not telling you, and the stuff we said on the field - although that was only because we were upset. But some of the stuff you said really did hurt!" I know I did wrong telling them all only two weeks before I was leaving. But I was scared. Hurt. Angry. I'd tried bargaining with my parents, begged them, pleaded...but nothing had worked. It was all about Dad and his stupid work, nothing to do with me or the fact I was halfway through my exam year. But even so, that didn't mean Amy could be so rude to me. She practically told me that she was happy I was moving!

"I know," She says, eyebrows furrowed, "I know that I'm in the wrong and I completely regret what I said. I didn't mean any of it - I was just upset and angry that you were leaving and it just built up! But I really am going to miss you."

"Yeah, I'm going to miss you too!" I promise, "And considering we haven't spent much time together this week...why don't you come with me and the others into central London today? We're gonna do a few touristy things."

"Sure, I'd love that!" Amy grins, and hugs me as I tie a friendship bracelet around her pale wrist. Her package reveals a pearl-white, gleaming photo-frame holding a picture of us from the Christmas Dance last year. I promise her it will be the first thing to go up on my new bedside table. We still have a few hours before we need to head down to the bus station, so I stick a film on the television, and we sit wrapped in fluffy blankets on the sofa and chatter over a pile of crisps and grapes.
I still approach her company with a bit of caution, but I figure that there's no point in me holding grudges especially against someone who was once one of my best friends. I say once, but I know that she's still trying to make up for what she did the other day. Even so, there's a part of me that doesn't quite trust her - the way I find her staring at me when I'm not looking, with dark emotions projecting towards me. I'm guessing the guilt ate her up and she decided to apologise before I left, even if she doesn't mean it. As we stand under the bus shelter waiting for the others, uncertainty still glimmers from her aura - she sits with her eyes boring into her lap, slowly twisting her hands around and pausing to chew at her nails. When the other two arrive, she becomes alive, babbling away with how sorry she is and how we've made up, as she shoots a grin at me to evidence it. The smile I return doesn't quite reach my eyes.