in time // h.s.

ix. harry

Fifteen years old...

The excitement on the bus, even at that time in the morning, was sky high. We were getting away from school life, from exam stress and from our parents for a whole week. We were off to chill with our friends in Paris, to marvel at some wonderful art while sketching it (badly) into our workbooks, eat loads of crêpes and to test out our French on actual French people (it was time to see whether we'd actually learned anything in our lessons). I wasn't holding my breath on that score and had packed my mini French phrase book, just in case (so had Matty and Janet). For some reason I was doubtful that the one French phrase that stuck in my head, 'Où est la piscine?' (Where is the swimming pool?) was going to get me very far.

Once Miss Jones had called the register and found everybody had made it on board, even though it was frightfully early, we were free. Janet, Matty and I squished up against the window at the back of the bus, and waved goodbye to our mums, all of whom were teary-eyed and rubbing each other's backs in support. We couldn't help but laugh at them, making them giggle back at the stupidity of their emotional outbursts. We were only going away for a week, you'd have thought we were moving to the other side of the world indefinitely the way they were carrying on.

As the bus started moving, carrying us away from our mums, away from the school and away from Holmes Chapel, I experienced an unexpected lull, as though reality had hit, causing me to abandon my joyfulness momentarily. I worried about my mum. I shouldn't have, I knew she was far tougher than I was and could cope with far more than me, but it was the thought of her in that empty house on her own, without anyone there for company (Gemma had gone off to Sheffield Hallam university this year and only visited every now and then whenever she had the chance). The other mums had their husbands to rely on, but she obviously didn't. I mean, sure, she had started sort of seeing this guy named Robin, but they weren't anything exclusive or serious yet. They were more friends than anything at the moment.

Dad leaving had made us closer than ever, we looked after each other, made sure we didn't dwell too heavily and moved each other into the light any time his absence hit us hard. It worried me that she'd have no one to do that for her without me there.

I looked up at the others to find Matty looking back at me. He winked and gave me an encouraging nod. He knew what was on my mind even though I hadn't said it, and I knew what he was saying even if the words hadn't worked their way out of his mouth. Mum would be fine. Everything would be okay.

But as soon as my thoughts of mum had subsided, a different feeling arose from the pit of my stomach. This is it, I thought to myself, this is the trip I've been waiting for, the trip that will change my future and hopefully give me the girl of my dreams. I took a deep breath to steady the nerves building up inside.

"You okay, Donut?" Janet asked to the right of me, her hand resting on my arm as she used the endearing nickname she gave me once I started working in the bakery. She always teased me about how I would always smell like freshly baked donuts after working a shift, calling me a huge donut whenever she had the chance.

"Yeah! Just knackered."

"Me too," she smiled, before taking my hand in hers, resting her head on my shoulder and nuzzling her body into mine.

It felt lovely.

I couldn't help but smile as I intuitively squeezed her hand. "I love you," I declared in what I hoped was the last time I'd have to do so in my coded way. Paris was going to give me the freedom to verbalize it, at last.

"I love the way you always do that," she smiled, rubbing my arm in response to my gesture, clueless as to what it actually meant. "The squeeze. It's your thing."